


A Commander’s Guide: How Not to Lose Your Maker-Damned Mind

by Lourdes23



Series: Thedosian Romance for Dummies - Books for Him and Her [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But she doesn't know she's modern, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Modern Girl in Thedas, Past Drug Addiction, Sexual Content, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 61,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lourdes23/pseuds/Lourdes23
Summary: The sequel to 'A Cullenite's Guide.'Cullen is used to nightmares.  He knew that going without Lyrium would only make them worse.What he hadn’t planned for was having them during waking hours.  Nor was he prepared for the impossible, unimaginable scenes they would show him; so vivid they blocked out reality at times.Dreams of places he’d never been and things that could never possibly exist.Dreams of the Inquisitor; so real it was as though they had been there before...
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Thedosian Romance for Dummies - Books for Him and Her [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663681
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1:  Uncertainty

**Chapter 1: Uncertainty**

It began as a feeling at the back of his mind; like that of a memory he knew existed but could not call forth. He could only attribute this odd sensation to his decision to stop taking lyrium. While he could not place the precise moment the gradual fog within his mind first came about, looking back Cullen could identify when it became a true cause for concern.

It had been upon being formally introduced to Cora Trevelyan; just after their brief encounter on the battlefield in which he had barely had time to so much as take a full look at her. She had been their prisoner then; the survivor of the destruction of the Conclave. But, upon stabilizing the breach, she had been accepted as an ally and properly acquainted with the Inquisition’s inner circle. From there her notoriety had spread rapidly and, before the Inquisition could lend influence one way or the other, the woman who had received the mark upon her hand had been dubbed the ‘Herald of Andraste’ by the masses.

Yet it was not these things which troubled him. Not in this regard, at least. For, confident as he was in having never laid eyes on this woman before Haven, Cullen was overcome with the distinct feeling he knew her. But it was impossible, of course. She was a mage, born to a noble family from Ostwick and sent to a circle he had never before been to. And while he could think of no possible connection he would have had to her, the persistent feeling of familiarity refused to leave him. In fact it had only compounded when she spoke; her light voice and openness while conversing setting his stomach alight in a way he had not expected. Suddenly the haze of the unknown plaguing him vanished.

He _knew_ that voice.

No. It was ridiculous. He possessed more sense than this - when had he developed an aversion to reason? This was neither the time nor the place for such fancies, and she was most certainly not the person he should have them for even if it were. Though he had left the templars behind he could not overlook the risks she posed to herself and those around her. Nor should he be so inclined to feign ignorance at her potential involvement with the appearance of the breach, though it was clear that she did not bear any direct fault at this point. No, he could not possibly disregard these facts regardless of how musical her voice may be, or how soft her golden hair must feel when it was released from its twist at the nape of her neck…

_Maker's breath..._

Resolved, and more than slightly annoyed with himself, Cullen banished the Herald from his thoughts and did his best to focus on the task at hand. He had soldiers to train and an encampment to fortify. He could not allow his mind to wander. Not now. This was no time for adolescent whims.

He had resolved himself to overcome this, as he had overcome so much already. It would be simple enough.

He found all-too quickly that he had miscalculated.

XXXX

Cora’s first meeting with the Commander of the Inquisition’s army could barely have been considered an introduction, but even then she’d felt it. At the sight of him marching towards her, totally unaware of the authority that he radiated like light, the confusion she’d experienced while in chains just hours before vanished. She wasn’t as anxious; the trembling of her hands after sealing the last rift finally dying off. They were in a battlefield, surrounded by dead and injured, and she had a searing green tear in the palm of her hand that was somehow tied to the hole in the sky. It made no sense to feel so calm about her situation, but she did.

She had wondered immediately after the encounter if this was it. Was this - or specifically was _he_ \- the ‘something’ she had somehow known was waiting for her when she first woke to find herself captive?

She did her best to keep a grip on herself. More than anything she wanted to study this man’s face; to discover what about him had been able to calm her without so much as a few words spoken - and not even particularly nice ones. She managed to keep herself from outright staring, but quickly found that even if she had tried there would have been no chance to keep at it, because almost as soon as he’d stormed up to them he was leaving again, and with him went the feeling of calm. It was so strange. He had been short and outright suspicious towards her. But his just being there had reassured her anyway. 

Maybe it had been that air of authority he carried with him. Cassandra, for all of her gruff exterior, had seemed just as thrown off as Cora was. The same for Varric. And the elf, Solas… Cora didn’t like him. Something about the man made her want to slap _him_ in chains, though it was probably just because he’d been studying her in her sleep. She didn’t like to think of a stranger - or anyone really - putting their hands on her while she was sleeping, even if it was to help. 

But Cullen was different. And in all of this chaos it helped to have someone around who seemed to have himself together.

_Right. That’s probably it._

While Cora’s memories were still a bit scattered since waking up, she knew that she had always been trusted for her ability to keep a cool head. It was one of the reasons she had been selected to attend the Conclave. She didn’t allow herself to be weak or emotional. And there was no reason at all why she should have to need a former templar of all people to get control over herself now. In fact that was probably the least sensible thing she’d ever felt. 

If the Commander could be so confident in spite of being powerless against rifts, she - who now had this mark on her hand that could seal the tears - should be capable of no less.

She didn’t need anyone - especially him - to keep her head on straight.

XXXX

Her next encounter with Commander Cullen was her formal introduction to the Inquisition’s leadership. The Ambassador, Spymaster, and Commander, as well as Seeker Cassandra, formed the backbone of the Inquisition, and in her newly earned role as the Herald of Andraste - as the soldiers and remaining townsfolk called her once they had seen the effect she had over the rift beneath the breach - she had been given access to this inner sanctum.

Of all of them she found Ambassador Montilyet to be the easiest to talk to… or she should have at any rate. The Ambassador was clearly in favor or mage support and was more apt to agree with Cora than the others, while Commander Cullen seemed nearly as mistrustful of mages as every other templar she’d met.

But there was still something about the blonde that caught Cora’s attention over and over. He wanted to find a reason to trust mages, she felt. He argued against the mages’ organization, their hostility, even the threat they posed to the world, but under all of his arguments he seemed almost willing to have someone change his mind. He didn’t argue against her decisions, didn’t spout rhetoric like it was an answer to everything. And there was also the fact that he had left the order to help the Inquisition, instead of remaining there to oppose the mages in their rebellion. If he was really so against mages nothing would have kept him from that.

All of that should have been reason enough for her to want to earn him as an ally, but there was more about him that drew her in, beyond the possibility of unraveling his seemingly reluctant prejudice. She hadn’t had the opportunity to experience it on the battlefield before, because it grew the more he spoke, and here in the war room he was very vocal. 

There was something about this man that demanded attention. It reminded her of her Harrowing. While her mind was still a bit cloudy after coming through the rift, with some memories still shrouded while others were returning steadily, she could remember the attraction of demonic promises and power that had tempted her within the Fade. If she hadn’t personally watched the Commander use the abilities templars employed against demons in battle, she would have been more suspicious. But he was just a man. A handsome, confident man.

A man whose perfection fascinated her.

_Perfection, Cora? Really?_

With a mental snort that brought a hint of a smirk to her lips, Cora silently laughed at herself. No. He wasn’t perfect. There was no such thing. All she would need would be to talk to him a little more. Get to know him. Once she did she’d find enough flaws to put her back in full control of her own senses. She’d learn that he was just another follower of the order or career soldier; boring and only concerned with pushing his authority on anyone who didn’t agree with him.

Maybe if she was lucky, she would find something redeeming in him, though probably not enough to interest her. She’d never known a templar before. The men and women who had been stationed in her own Circle had been stoney and silent, except when duty demanded they weren’t. But this Commander Cullen would actually speak with her. That, at least, was something.

It was settled. Starting tomorrow she would become friends with the Commander of the Inquisition. Maybe even flirt a little. She’d never made a templar squirm before. She wondered what it would be like.

Suddenly this idea seemed like the most fun she’d had in a while.

XXXX

Almost immediately the Herald proved to be relentless in her pleasantries, and in spite of the concerns at allowing her to become too informal with him, Cullen could not help but grow to enjoy their talks. Her way of speaking disarmed him, though not disagreeably. There was nothing in her manner or airs that betrayed her as the nobility she had been born into. No comments which could have been considered demands that those associated with the templars – himself included – atone for their crimes against her kind, as so many mages were apt to. Though he could not in all fairness consider such claims unwarranted. For while Cullen disdained entitlement in general, he could not help but feel that there were certainly mages he had encountered after his service in Ferelden who would have the right to his repentance for his treatment of them. It could easily stand to reason that the Herald might have had similar experiences in her own Circle, and that she may feel she had the right to her particular justice.

But such was not the case here, it seemed. The Herald was aware of the tension between the factions and of where her opinions fell, but beyond a few politely phrased concerns from her, conversations on the topic remained purely academic, even when weighing in on official Inquisition business within the war room.

More often than not when he and the Herald spoke candidly she would raise topics not directly related to Inquisition business. His past, his thoughts on their comrades, what life had been like in the templar order. Her questions were delivered with ease and he found himself answering her before he could consider whether or not it was prudent to do so. At times she would even let loose a playful taunt – some of which had him nervously clearing his throat as she arched a brow and smiled mischievously.

Did she know what effect she had on his sensibilities when he did not place himself in check? They had only known one another for a short time, yet she seemed so at ease with him. Moreso, he thought, than she behaved with the rest of the inner circle. He could not imagine she would ask such questions if she was ignorant of her impact on him. Unless she truly thought their talks to be harmless fun.

Cullen didn’t know where he stood with her. She was so unguarded, so open. Part of him wanted to reciprocate but to do so would risk the return of those strange feelings, and that he could not allow. Yet it soon grew more difficult to distance himself from her. Where once had been only polite inquiries now granted a surprisingly earnest smile that reached all the way to those sparkling blue-green eyes, or an indirect compliment delivered with sincerity; small ways in which he found his good will genuinely inspired by her. 

In those moments he could not hold back his own smile, a light chuckle, an admission in response to her gentle teasing. What was it about this woman that could compel him to drop his defenses so readily?

Each time they spoke a feeling greater than familiarity grew within him a little more, and he found himself willing to be distracted by her for just a few more moments. Yet duty was always waiting to call him back to Inquisition matters, reminding him that there was a decided boundary he must not breach when it came to her. And so at the slightest prompt he would excuse himself from their conversations shortly after they had begun, though part of him was always remiss to do so. 

But it was safest that way. 

For both of them.

XXXX


	2. Chapter 2:  Symptoms

**Chapter 2: Symptoms**

  
  


She was the Inquisitor. More than Herald, this was a title not only bestowed, but accepted. She would stand and face the dangers with them. She would protect them at all costs, and had proven her dedication to the task prior to accepting the role. The memory of that fearful night still chilled him; of watching the snow-blown pass and praying for a sign of movement not driven by the wind. The feeling of relief and then terror anew when she emerged and then collapsed hundreds of paces away from where they had camped. She had lived, watched them nearly unravel themselves that night, and still accepted her place at their forefront.

Cullen felt a sort of possessive pride for her, one he was not certain was all together appropriate. It bordered on personal he knew, yet he did his best to convince himself otherwise. Of course he was proud. For the first time in so long he followed a cause that aligned with his own morals. The Inquisition would act as a beacon of stability and safety in a world that was quickly going mad, and its Inquisitor was the most qualified person to lead such an effort. It didn’t matter if she was a mage. Her magic did not define her; he knew that now better than most. And while he may not always agree with her, Cullen knew that he could trust her judgment. She was someone worthy of their loyalty and respect, and he gave it willingly.

So it disturbed him greatly when the dreams began in earnest.

They had started soon after arriving in Skyhold. At first they had been nonsensical, and plagued him only with their vague impressions; their shadows following him into consciousness each morning. Strange places he had never visited. Flashes of events he had never experienced. Each night he would retire and each morning he would wake to images his mind should not have been able to conjure. A passenger transport that flew? Ridiculous! 

Until at last a dream came to him in the night which carried with it something familiar, or rather someone: the Inquisitor.

_ They had come from battle, though not a significant one. She had been injured as he had, and stood now before him in what she had explained to be a healer’s room that smelled sharply of metals and other unpleasant odors he could not name. Shortly after the fight against their enemy they had bickered between themselves while standing where they had battled, and while he could not remember what they had argued about he could recall the look in her eyes immediately following their heated words; those blue-green depths desperate and lost. Guilt, relief, and sorrow warred within him and had followed him as they left the field, along with a desperate need to reclaim her for himself. At last the urge overtook him when they were alone and momentarily safe in this peculiar, reeking place and he had kissed her, marveling at the familiarity of her lips against his. _

_ He had known her then, just as he knew her now. He had known her lips and her scent and the feel of her slight, trim body in his arms even before he had held her there, in that room he didn’t recognize. She had been different he knew; her clothing strange, as was his. She was changed in some ways and yet still utterly the same. She was still his. _

_ His tongue swept into her mouth when she parted her lips in invitation, and he heard himself moan into her throat as her tongue encircled his before delicately flicking at his lip to taste his scar, as she so often would. _

_ His Cora… _

He woke from the dream with a gasp, panting into the dark; sweat clinging to his skin in the cold night air, his body so taught it ached. It had seemed more of a memory than a conjured vision. Even now, lying awake in his bed, he could recall the taste of her; feel the heat of her against him. 

It was the lyrium withdrawal. It had to be. His attraction to the Inquisitor – for he would finally admit to himself alone that he found her attractive – was now manifesting and compounding the symptoms. He could think of no other reason why he was now incapable of controlling his fantasies as he had done before. The effort, he knew, could cause a man to lose control of his senses, and he began to fear that perhaps he was not faring as well in quitting the drug as he had thought.

He groaned and flung an arm over his eyes. Sleep was not going to come easily now. Though he feared what these dreams might be promising for him, it did not negate the effect they had on him… physically. Not with the sensations they had brought about still so fresh. His blood was hot in his veins and the cold night air was not enough to calm him. Beneath his bedclothes his desire throbbed in time with his racing pulse. He tried his meditation; slowed his breath and focused on the mental image of the candle burning down in his mind. He tried to select an appropriate chant to calm himself, and as he did the dream followed him still into wakefulness.

_ They knelt in the dark on a bed which smelled of her and of him, though they had not laid there together before this night. In the moonlight and strange nighttime glow from the window beside them he watched as her hand reached up and unbound her pale hair; the strands falling around her shoulders just as he knew they would, falling just short of obscuring full, bare breasts. She smiled and reached for him invitingly; and willingly he went to her, pressing his naked skin to hers as he guided her to her back. _

With a growl he flung the pillow beneath his head across the room and took himself to hand at last, thrusting his hips up into his grip desperately. He could swear that she was before him now. Her scent flooded his nostrils, the silken texture of her hair brushed his cheek. Her breath huffed against his lips giving the barest hint of her voice with each exhalation. It could have all been real for how vividly he pictured it -  _ knew _ it.

_ She was beneath him, gripping him, stroking him, murmuring into the dark how perfect he was before raking her nails down his back; the tip of her nimble tongue playing against his lips and tracing the length of his scar. He moved within her rhythmically until she was crying out, her body clenching around him as she came undone. _

His slow, wistful strokes sped as he worked himself while within his mind the ghost of the Inquisitor brought him over the edge. Alone in his bed Cullen followed suit, biting back her name even now; refusing to allow this degradation to be given a voice.

When it was over he rose and methodically cleaned himself, debating on the wisdom of chasing sleep again for fear the dreams would return. His teeth ground until he could hear them creak as anger warred with fear within him.

No. He would master his withdrawal. This would not claim him.

XXXX

He studied the war room’s map intently, or tried to at any rate, busying himself with repositioning the markers representing their forces to reflect the soldiers’ current locations. Around him the advisors discussed their next course of action, seemingly unaware that Cullen was doing his very best to avoid meeting the gaze of their Inquisitor.

Maker’s breath, last night he had proven to have no more discipline than that of a rutting mabari! He had not simply lost control, he had abandoned it willingly. For the first time since engaging Cassandra to observe him he felt compelled to report to her. He did not need to go into great detail, but she had to know that he was finding it more and more difficult to control his thoughts and impulses. She needed to know to watch for slips while in his presence.

“Commander?” the Ambassador’s voice broke through his distress, calling him back to order.

His report. Right. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“New recruits are arriving daily,” he began, his gaze unconsciously flickering over to the Inquisitor where he found a pleasant half-smile on her lips. “We uhh…” his face began to burn with humiliation, trying not to recall the images of her which had flooded his mind the previous night, and he quickly turned his gaze down to his report, “we are… housing the soldiers in tents within the courtyard until… until the barracks construction completes.”

“Commander?” Leliana interrupted. “Is everything all right?”

“What? No. I mean. It’s nothing,” he said, trying to collect himself with a deep sigh. “A headache, nothing more.” While he had commissioned Cassandra alone with the task of watching him for signs that he could no longer perform his duties, he was not so foolish as to believe Leliana was ignorant of his decision to stop taking lyrium. 

In spite of what she may have known, the Spymaster remained silent while Josephine made polite suggestions that he visit the healer. “I’m all right,” he pressed, this time a little sharply. Then, more softly he added, “I appreciate the concern. Shall we continue? We have a lot of work ahead of us.” Forcing himself to lift his gaze to the Ambassador, he nodded his gratitude, and caught sight of the Inquisitor beyond the map, her brow furrowed in concern.

_ Maker, not her, too! _

Sympathy from anyone was unsupportable, but from her it was intolerable! He allowed his irritation to fuel him; at least it gave him the ability to speak with purpose, and delivered the rest of his report in a firm voice that had the others in the room holding back any further inquiries until the meeting concluded. He departed quickly, calling to his side the first soldier he laid eyes upon and instructing the man to call in the newest group for a training demonstration.

Perhaps some time schooling recruits with practice weapons would do the trick. He could use it to alleviate some of this physical tension he carried. And it was difficult to feel frustrated when one had a sword in hand and a willing target.

XXXX

His office door opened without inquiry and the Inquisitor entered, her face betraying her trepidation. Whatever they had started off as in Haven, she genuinely cared for him now, of that much he was certain. His throat constricted at the sight of her. It never ceased to amaze him how stunning she was.

Irritated, he shook off the thought.  _ ‘Enough. It’s time.’ _

“As leader of the Inquisition you,” he signed, gathering his resolve, “there’s something I must tell you.” Her brow furrowed, her concern clearly deepening. 

_ ‘Maker, not again.’  _ He had not meant to worry her. It had been his decision alone to stop taking lyrium. If there were consequences to be had they should be his to bear alone. That she was now troubling herself for his choice was insufferable. He would put things right. 

From her place before his desk the Inquisitor nodded encouragingly. “You can tell me anything, Cullen.” 

_ Cullen. _

She had taken to addressing him on a first name basis. The intimacy of such a small act had not gone unappreciated, though it did continue to make it even more difficult to maintain a professional distance.

“Right. Thank you.” He had never explained exactly what lyrium was capable of doing to a templar, both before and after one decided to stop taking it, and so he started there; the box containing his implements for creating the draughts for himself laid out before him. It gave him focus and allowed him to speak with the Inquisitor without becoming distracted, as he was prone to doing recently. Dutifully he informed her that the templars who had joined the Inquisition were well stocked with lyrium to suit their needs before giving her his confession.

“But I… no longer take it.” He refused to make eye contact with her for fear her gentle heart would crack his composure. The effort, however, was pointless as alarm rang clear in her voice.

“Cullen, can this kill you?”

“It hasn’t yet.” He had wanted to sound arrogant, to smirk and soothe her, but the mirth refused to come. Before she could voice more concerns he explained his reasoning. The last thing that he wanted was to hear her ask him not to jeopardize himself in such a way. If she did he could not guarantee that he would hold true to his decision. Not if  _ she _ asked him to abandon it. He had to make her understand why, and see that safeguards were in place. He informed her of Cassandra’s involvement, hoping it would suffice. 

Her next inquiry caught him off guard. “Does it hurt?”

Warmth blossomed beneath his breast and he concentrated on holding his stern expression. “I can endure it,” he muttered. With a nod she relented.

“I respect what you’re doing. Thank you for trusting me.”

She would not ask him to end his attempts. He wanted to sigh with relief, but could not risk his composure. Instead he pointedly ended the conversation and lifted a report from his desk, feigning study as he waited for the Inquisitor to take her cue and depart. It had taken a moment in which she had watched him as though she had wanted to say more before she finally left. 

His duty to the Inquisitor had been done. He had hoped it would alleviate the guilt he felt at yearning for someone he had no right to dream of. Yet this conversation had only solidified his desire for her even more. She was caring, supporting, brave…

With a sign of frustration he slapped the report onto his desk and moved for the door. It was time to provide Cassandra with a carefully tactful update of his status.

XXXX

  
  


Only once she was safely back inside the walls of the main hall did Cora stop, her thoughts completely consuming her.

Was this it? Was this why he had seemed to be growing more and more distant from her lately? 

She might have started off wanting to be his friend in order to show herself that he was nothing special, but she had quickly learned that while he was far from perfect he was also far from what she had initially hoped to find him. He was smart, warm, and clearly had a sense of humor she would very much appreciate if he would just let go and share it with her. Their chats at Haven, and shortly after arriving in Skyhold, had been intimate and entertaining. She had found any excuse that she could to slip away and spend time with him. Except for Dorian, Cullen was the closest thing she had to a friend here. 

It was only recently that Cullen seemed to pull back from her. Cora had wondered if she had offended him somehow, but couldn’t think of anything she would have done that would have caused him to reject her friendship. She’d brought the mages into their organization and he had listed his concerns - respectfully - before agreeing to support her decision. That had been it. No anger, no resentment. Their talks had remained pleasant, and though she teased him and flirted he seemed generally unaffected by her efforts... though she wasn’t entirely sure she was happy with that, either.

This recent disconnect, however…

But now she might have the explanation she’d been chasing. Could giving up lyrium have soured him? Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was some other part of the effort that bothered him; some symptom he was hiding from her.

The thought of him suffering alone created a tight ball of worry in her stomach. She wanted to go back to him, to comfort him, but he had been very clear in wanting to be alone. 

Cora sighed, frustration and helplessness making her feel miserable, and without a second thought she turned towards the stairs to visit the library. Or more to the point, Dorian. There had always been something about the Altus that inspired a sense of friendship in her. He was open and witty and sharp tongued. A sense of wistfulness overtook her when she thought about what made him so likable for too long, like she was missing something. Or someone.

She needed to laugh right now. There was nothing like irreverent humor and mutual flirting that would go nowhere to pick her spirits back up. 

She’d figure out what to do about Cullen later.

XXXX

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting somewhere. Chapter one was a little slow for my taste, but it was also necessary. Scene setting and all that stuff.
> 
> If those flashes from Cullen's head or some of the canon scenes didn't make sense, I recommend that you go back and read 'Cullenite's" before continuing here. Otherwise a lot of what is to come is going to seem off, or completely confusing.


	3. Chapter 3:  Interference

**Chapter 3: Interference**

_ Where is that man? _

The past week had been more than exhausting, with plans to kill off a royal assassination moving along at a pace that had Cora impressed with the efficiency of her advisors. But the stress of her part, which was only compounded by her recent worries involving a certain ex-templar, had not gone unnoticed. 

She’d been obvious enough that she’d gotten an invitation to meet with her favorite Tevinter scoundrel that afternoon for wine and drama; the second part turning into one of their favorite pastimes where they quietly talked about, concocted, or spied on all of the dirty little happenings in the Inquisition. When they first developed this hobby Cora had been pleasantly surprised to find that while Leliana might have her finger on the pulse of all occurrences both public and private, Dorian was coming very close to rivaling the Spymaster’s abilities, and had the delicious knack for sharing his findings with the Inquisitor in theatrical detail. And as they interacted the wistful feeling Cora had once held towards the dark man steadily shifted into that of real affection, with Dorian soon becoming a real friend to her.

But that affection wasn’t going to save him from her irritation today. Because, after searching the library, the Altus’s assigned quarters, and even the tavern - where she had it on good authority the dapper mage liked to visit on occasion to enjoy certain  _ scenery _ \- she still couldn’t find Dorian anywhere.

Annoyed, Cora began trekking aimlessly through the castle, throwing occasional inquiries at those she encountered and knew to be familiar with the man. Some remembered seeing him in the stairwell, others in the library, “but that was hours ago, Inquisitor.”

After nearly a half hour of wandering she entered the garden and stumbled on her misplaced companion sitting before a chess board with Cullen, the later with his fingertips templed against his lips in a look that clearly said he had finally relaxed. Curiosity replaced anger, and Cora moved close to the setting. The men were smirking at one another as they talked casually until Cullen finally noticed her approach and nearly tipped the board as he stood to greet her. From his reclined position in his chair Dorian’s eyes flicked over to the Commander before coming back to her, a devious smile twisting his lips. Cora did her best not to scowl.

_ That manipulating little- _

She knew perfectly well what Dorian’s opinion of their Commander was, because when it came to Cullen’s appeal Dorian and she were in agreement. Cullen was more than just attractive; his voice could either melt you or set you on fire depending on his mood, he was intelligent - which was something both mages found irresistible, and the way the man could move in combat should be something that required you to pray to the Maker for forgiveness after watching.

But Dorian’s interest stopped there. Cora knew perfectly well that the Altus’s interests had turned towards a much larger subject. He could appreciate Cullen, just not to the same degree she-

Cora halted that line of thought immediately. 

From his seat Dorian pulled his eyes from her and fixed them on Cullen once more. “Leaving are you? Does this mean I win?” He didn’t laugh but he didn’t need to. His tone spoke of his amusement well enough. Cullen returned to his chair and glared at his competitor. 

Her own curiosity piqued slightly in spite of being abandoned, Cora allowed a brow to arch. “Now, now, boys. Play nice.”

“I’m  _ always _ nice,” Dorian countered, and earned an unintended chortle from the woman. The gloating and taunting resumed between the two men and concluded only when Cullen took the game, much to Dorian’s frustration. Grumbling, the dark man excused himself, though not before he caught the Inquisitor’s eye with a conspiratorial wink and a smile as he brushed past her. Irritation gave way to gratitude. She should have known he would eventually stick his perfectly mustached nose in exactly where it didn’t belong.

_ Maker bless that man! _

From his seat Cullen reluctantly reminded them both of his duties before hope welled in his voice as he offered her, as an alternative, a round of chess with him.

It was back, as though it had never left; the feeling of calm and warmth and ease. Only now it came with a joy that nearly overwhelmed her. Why should she feel so happy at the offer of a simple game? Still, it didn’t trouble her. After so many days of constant pressure it was good to feel so light.

Carefully, Cora held her emotions in check and stepped up to the platform. She wasn’t about to let herself fly off the handle now, of all times. 

“Prepare yourself, Commander,” she returned in playful warning, and Cullen chuckled before falling into small talk; Cora doing her best then entire time to not laugh from irrationally giddiness. 

He was easy, almost carefree; joking and talking and answering her questions with an open friendliness she hadn’t seen since their days in Haven. No, this went well beyond the fun of those conversations. He teased his absent siblings, berated himself for not writing them enough, asked about her own family, and laughed when she spoke of the trouble she and her elder brother had thrown themselves into before she was sent to the Circle. There was no asking to change the topics, no clearing his throat awkwardly, and no excusing himself to see to this or that important duty. She would taunt him and he would fire back without hesitating but also never crossing the line into blatant disrespect. 

Maker, it felt so right! 

They kept at it for quite a while; sharing stories and taking their time planning out their next moves, and if either noticed when the other passed up a maneuver that would have sped the game along neither said anything. 

His smile was sincere when at last he brought the topic back to the present. “This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition - or related matters. To be honest I appreciate the distraction.”

“I’d love to spend more time with you,” she admitted on a whim. The words had only just escaped her when her breath caught in her lungs and her face outright burned, instantly aware that what she had just blurted hadn’t been her typical playful flirting. When she had toyed with him in the past his carefully phrased diversions from the topic had never troubled her. She could laugh it off as teasing and move on. But this had been more. She had been direct, had asserted herself into the admission, and had  _ meant _ it!

Bracing herself as best as she could, Cora dared to lift her eyes up to Cullen, and found unguarded pleasure crossing the Commander’s face. Her worries began to die out with the realization that she hadn’t upset him. She wanted to smile, but found herself nearly frozen while she waited for him to speak. 

“I- would like that,” he stuttered slightly, and her heart tripped in her chest. 

“Me too.”

His hand stilled over the board as he gazed at her, a strange, small smile on his lips she’d never seen before and yet somehow knew exactly what it meant. Her stumbling heart caught its beat back up and began to hammer wildly beneath her breast. He was looking at her like… like…

His voice was low, warm. More than warm. “You said that.”

It was impossible to find words to fill the silence as her mind tumbled over itself. She knew, in some inexplicable way, that this was precisely how he would speak to a woman the moment before he kissed her, and now he was speaking to her. 

She wanted to knock the table aside and clear a path for him to reach her. But his attention dropped back to the pieces in front of them as he suggested they finish their game, his move clearly thoughtless when she bothered to focus on it. He had placed three of his key pieces in danger with his poor play. Several more moves passed where Cullen made an effort to recover, but it was too late. Cora’s final move took the game and Cullen smiled as he congratulated her, suggesting that they play again in the future; remnants of that gorgeous smile playing at his lips and tipping his scar. She tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help wondering if it was as soft as it seemed.

He sat waiting for her to rise - a gentleman to the last - and when she did he followed suit. From there he walked with her as far as the garden doors before parting ways, explaining he had a report to write and a dispatch of soldiers to check on.

Knowing it would be irresponsible to demand any more of his attention than she already had, Cora accepted that she should allow him to leave, but not without a parting word.

“You know,” she said quietly, “I’m not only the Inquisitor.”

Cullen frowned, slightly puzzled, she could see. “Are there titles beyond the ones you’ve already amassed that I don’t know about?”

Cora laughed and something in his eyes caused her heart to skip a beat. “My  _ name _ , Cullen. You could try to use it every now and then.”

The golden eyes in front of her widened, and his hand shot to the back of his neck.

“I- yes. I suppose. When we’re not acting in our official capacities, of course.”

“Of course.” She smiled, her brow arching teasingly as she waited. She could almost see the tint in his cheeks change slightly. Part of her wondered if she was pushing too hard, but the afternoon had been all but perfect and she couldn't hold back her high spirits.

“Well then,” he said softly, “good evening… Cora.”

“Good evening, Cullen.”

A slight pause reigned between them before Cullen smiled sheepishly and excused himself, leaving Cora to decide her next course of action.    


There was someone in the library whom she owed a bottle of Josephine’s finest wine and maybe even a kiss for his bronze cheek… if she could sneak up on him quickly enough, of course. She wasn’t one for physically expressing affection ordinarily. But given how finicky he was about his appearance, and that he’d deserted her earlier that day, he deserved the tousle to his hair and mustache the act would inflict.

XXXX

Cullen had done his best, he knew that he had, but the situation was growing worse. And despite Cassandra’s confidence that he had nothing to fear, the Commander was certain his withdrawals were slowly claiming him. 

It had always been present in his mind, but never a true fear as it was now. He had even believed for one blessed moment that things were improving. For over a week his sleep had consisted only of blissful nothingness in which rest came easily; the stretch longer than any he had experienced in years. It had given him hope and had allowed him to let his guard down for once. He had even spent the better part of yesterday afternoon enjoying the company of the Inquisitor - of _Cora_. Maker, she really had asked that of him, hadn’t she? They had talked and played chess and-

His heart had repeatedly filled at the memory of it over the last several days. 

_ ‘I’d love to spend more time with you.’  _ The blush of her cheeks and evident shock in her expression at her own words had given Cullen a moment of euphoria. She had clearly spoken without conscious thought. And when he had agreed her gaze had practically lit up from within.

Maker, she truly cared for him. The idea that such an extraordinary woman could feel anything for him was beyond his comprehension, and yet he could not deny it. She was the Inquisitor, yes, but it changed nothing. He could not convince himself he had not seen it etched in her features and in the coloring of her face.

The Inquisitor -  _ Cora _ \- carried feelings for him. To what degree he couldn’t know, and it hardly mattered at this point. He began to think that even the differences in their stations could be overlooked for, if she felt he was worthy of her, he should trust in her judgment as he did in matters of life and death.

Until the dreams returned two nights later, on a night where they seemed so out of place, as nothing had kept her immediately in his thoughts. The Inquisitor and a small gathering had ventured from the castle and he had spent the day dispatching troops to various encampments in order to ensure the Inquisition had sufficient presence in the areas currently falling under their direct protection. He had retired to comparisons of their experienced men against new recruits, the percentages of their forces made up by former templars and mages versus the previously inexperienced, and other factors which could identify potential weaknesses within their ranks.

Yet when sleep finally claimed him, his mind filled with nothing but Cora.

_ She was in agony, nearly choking on her own misery. He had been trying to console her yet his efforts seemed to accomplish just the opposite until she reeled on him. _

_ ‘Stop, Cullen!’ Cora wailed, ‘Jesus what do you want? Do you want to stay here? Huh? Is that it?! Give up the Inquisition and your family and your life back home? For what - for me?’ She railed on, and while much of what she said was completely unknown to him now in both context and wording, her final statement was quite clear. _

_ ‘What we did was a mistake,’ she nearly whispered, and he understood she referred to the passionate night they had shared; the same night he had been experiencing repeatedly in prior dreams. ‘I should never have… led you on like that. There was never a future for you and I. We both knew that.’ _

He woke with a low cry; a guttural sound of anger and sorrow as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. His soul keened with a loss so familiar it was as though this heartbreak had been his once. He tried to dispel the images from his mind but, like the ones that had come before, this dream clung to him even in consciousness. 

_ He sat upon a low, soft sofa; a strange rectangular piece of glass framed in metal, smaller than his hand, gripped within his fingers. It glowed with a power he somehow knew was not magic, though beyond that he could not guess. Grey squares lined the bottom of the tiny window, each containing a different letter which his thumbs were moving over slowly, tapping out words onto the luminescent device by touching each letter.  _

_ Beyond his shoulder a small woman stood sentinel, her mass of black hair fanning out over her shoulders; wire frames encircling her eyes reminiscent of dwarven ingenuity. She was agitated with him, but her anger would not change anything. Cora - the Inquisitor - had made her peace and now he would make his. There was nothing else to do, no matter how desperately he may wish it otherwise.  _

_ No. The fact of the matter was he could not force her to change her mind anymore than he could induce her to love him. It was that simple. He must accept her decision. _

_ The words on the miniature pane in his grasp glared up at him: _

_ ‘Thank you for completing your part of the task. I will trouble you no further. Cullen.’ _

_ The symbol resembling an arrowhead in the corner of the picture required only a touch to communicate the message to Cor- the Inquisitor - through mutually shared technology, according to Dee. _

_ Dee. That had been this small, dark woman’s name. Miss Deliah Sanchez. Miss, and not Ser, as the Inquisitor had instructed him to address the woman prior to their meeting. He had called her that - Miss Sanchez - until she had informed him that she was known as Dee to those she called friend. Had they been friends? The dark woman  _ had _ instructed him to address her as Dee, too... _

_ Cullen pressed the arrowhead, and a noise resembling the musical passage of air emanated from the device. It was done. He would no longer fear hurting her. _

Alone in his room Cullen inhaled a ragged breath as his body began to tremble. Why did his heart ache so deeply if this was only a dream? How had his mind invoked such images, such devices? He had heard of dwarven technology which could heighten a person’s sight, but he had never actually laid eyes on it. And the glass device he had held; it had a name. Cell-something. 

Then there was the woman; like the Inquisitor he was certain he had met her before. But how? He knew inexplicably that she was no mage.

If he could only find a connection between the images from his dreams and things he had encountered in reality he could explain them away. They would be nothing more than nightmares wrought from memory; easily dismissed as mundane. But these new dreams were something else entirely. His mind was conjuring things he had never thought to imagine, situations too strange to be fiction, and sensations too real to have never known. The implications were terrifying.

Maker preserve him, for he now feared in earnest that he would not last through his efforts.

XXXX

Cora hadn’t seen him in days. Okay, so she had been away from Skyhold for most of that time, recruiting agents for the Inquisition and gathering materials she needed in order to improve her armor. Cassandra had been at her about that, and she was well aware of the damage her current armaments had suffered. It was necessary, and Josephine had informed Cora there would be nothing more to do to safeguard Empress Celene for the moment, so this was as good of a time as any to see to her personal business. 

But Cora saw the absence as more of an inconvenience than anything. She wanted to explore this newfound closeness she and Cullen had been developing. Casual flirting had been fun in the beginning, but she was now more than aware that the Commander of the Inquisition had claimed her heart for himself. She’d been flat out denying it as anything more serious than flirting until the chess game. Now she had to accept it, her admission to the man at the table had been more than even she could explain away. She’d said it and he’d smiled; and now Cora had to know if she had earned his heart back. Maybe he had only been flattered, but she strongly doubted that. Something deep inside her told her that Cullen was as invested as she was, even if he often seemed to hold her at arm’s reach. Like the feeling of everything just making sense around him, she couldn’t stop the rush of affection when around him, nor the inclination that he felt the same. Her instincts hadn’t lied to her yet, but before the game he’d done a damned good job of stopping their play before it grew too serious. She just couldn’t understand where she stood with him!

Her eyes lifted to the ramparts as her traveling party passed through the gates of Skyhold; the gesture not going unnoticed by those in her company.

“Ah yes,” Dorian’s voice was thick with amusement at her back, “let the Great Templar Hunt begin anew!”

With a quiet hiss for silence Cora reached back and flicked her fingers, trying to dismiss her friend but only managed to encourage his teasing.

“ _ Shushing _ me now, is it?” Her fellow mage smiled archly. “I should probably point out to you that it’s a bit late for that. Given how frequently the pair of you ogle each other while you think no one is watching - and I can assure you everyone is - I can safely inform you that all of Skyhold and no less than half of Orlais are well aware of your pining for one another.”

Further back Cora heard Sera’s wicked cackle, immediately followed with over-syrupy combinations of her own name and Cullen’s in a mockery of those disgusting pet names couples of the worst sort sometimes used on themselves.

“Do you have to encourage her?” Cora turned a scathing glare on her friend and sighed, while only Dorian grinned brightly.

“Oh indeed I do,” he replied with deepening humor. “She’s a precious little cloud of mischief and I adore watching people squirm as she plays with them. Provided, of course, that I’m not the one at the receiving end of that mischief.”

“Dorian,” Cora groaned and the Altus waved with the back of his hand as he walked on.

“Yes, yes,” he replied over his shoulder, seemingly resigned, “best get back to your hunt. I expect the most sordid of details later.”

Bull and Sera each threw in their own two coppers before parting from her as well and finally Cora stood alone. Suddenly self conscious of the way some about the courtyard looked to her and then to the ramparts or training field, she felt that they were searching for the very man she was. 

Either Dorian had been spreading tales just before they had left Skyhold or he was right, and a lot more people were aware of her feelings for the Commander than she had thought. She debated on the sense of making her way straight to Cullen’s office, but shook the doubt from her mind. If people were already whispering about her business there was no stopping them now. And if they weren’t, and Cullen did care for her as she hoped, the gossips would be on them eventually. She’d better thicken her skin now and save herself the aggravation later.

Straightening herself back to perfect composure, Cora turned for the stairwell that would take her up the ramparts to Cullen’s office, using her friend’s wit to bolster herself.

_ ‘To the hunt!’ _

XXXX

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I've been following the canon plot pretty closely up to this point. No, that won't always be the case. Because sometimes, when you mod a game, the mod can break things.
> 
> And what did Cullenites teach us, kids? ;)
> 
> Expect things to pick up soon. And then snowball. It's like a rollercoaster - getting to the top seems to take forever, but once you reach it the fun REALLY begins!


	4. Chapter 4:  Action

##  **Chapter 4: Action**

When dawn broke over the Frostback Mountains Cullen retreated to his office, busying himself with post assignments until he was certain Cassandra was about. He intended to speak to her today; to tell her everything and make her aware of his deterioration. If he did not confide in her completely she would not be able to determine if he was still capable of leading.

When the main gates below the ramparts began rumbling almost as soon as he had settled into his work, Cullen stilled. That they were opened so early could only mean one thing: the Inquisitor had returned. An uncontrolled thrill of anticipation coursed through his body and his breath caught in his chest. Before he could exert self control he found himself at the narrow window which afforded the best view of the entry into Skyhold; his neck twisting in the hopes that he might catch a glimpse of shimmering gold in the early light. It was ludicrous to behave in such a way, he knew, yet common sense wasn’t enough to compel him to leave his sentry’s position. 

The Inquisitor’s latest absence had been both a blessing and a curse to him. He had found himself missing her good humor and confidence, among other things. For days he had repeatedly brought their chess game to mind, wondering if he might have been mistaken in thinking she cared for him. Perhaps she had spoken of friendship only? Perhaps he was allowing his foolish desires to turn what had been an innocent friendly exchange into something more.

Perhaps it was something more than simple foolish desires.

He pushed that fear away. He would deal with his dreams with Cassandra directly. The Inquisitor had more important things to worry over at present than his own inclinations. And since he had sought her aid in apprehending Samson, Cullen believed he had troubled her enough. He considered Samson’s pursuit as much of a personal favor as a matter of official Inquisition business. The man had betrayed his oath for nothing more than addiction. He was the worst sort of filth, and there was little Cullen would like more than to see the traitor brought to justice.

A knock at his office door broke his reverie and Cullen turned towards his bookcase sheepishly, calling a short order of entry to the one who’s manners alone had saved the commander from being caught in his infatuation. It afforded him only enough time to harden his features so that even the appearance of the Inquisitor in his office did nothing to betray his discomposure; her features shifting from something pleasantly cheerful to wariness almost immediately. Aware that his cold greeting had caught her off guard Cullen quickly spoke up.

“Inquisitor,” he murmured, softly this time, yet still maintaining the proper amount of formality. “Was there something you needed?”

The Inquisitor’s chin lifted, and he recognized her stubborn tenacity in play. She was preparing for something; though he wasn’t certain exactly what. There was a pause in which he could see her considering something before her face schooled to neutrality once more. A mask of her own, just like the one Cullen wore.

“I want to talk to you.  _ Alone _ .” She announced with equal severity, and Cullen felt his nerves shift uncomfortably to that of a man about to be found guilty of some offense; and she was going to render the verdict.

“Alone?” He stammered, and quickly recovered. “I mean, of course.” Rounding his desk, he gestured to the ramparts. Though his office possessed walls and doors, it was difficult to secure it against visitors during daylight hours. It was only in the late hours, when he retired for the night, that Cullen would drop the bolt which hindered free entry. 

For discretion, the high walls of Skyhold were ideal. While they were wide open they also stretched lengthy expanses and afforded a clear line of sight in all accessible directions, which made conversing on the ramparts the most private location. The winds beyond their walls stole sound beyond that which was spoken within close proximity so no one could eavesdrop, and it was easy enough to block visibility to the castle, and any with the skill to read lips, by standing at the proper angle.

Silently the Inquisitor turned and allowed herself to be ushered from the Commander’s office, her pace casual so that he could walk beside her once they were outside. 

He wanted to say something; to fill the silence with some mundane nonsense about the weather or inquiries after her trip. Yet there was a tension in the air between them. She was most definitely uneasy in his presence. 

Somehow this didn’t feel… right. He was certain she should not be so stoic at the moment. He should be able to prattle on with her, yet he couldn’t. She seemed stonier than she should be, and yet he couldn’t understand why he felt she should  _ be _ anything other than what she was. Certainly he’d spoken with her while she was agitated before. Yet this time her disposition seemed somehow out of place.

_ “It’s a nice day…” _

_ “What?” _

He could almost hear the conversation in his thoughts, but the glint in her eye stayed his tongue. 

No. She should not be in such a state.

With a sigh Cullen felt his mood sour. He never had been one for dancing around the truth. If she had come to confront him on something he would clear the path for her. It was the least he could do.

“There was something you wished to discuss.” It was a question more than a statement; one that he put a great deal of effort into speaking politely and without the aggravation that was consuming him.

Her cheeks flushed deeply, more than they had been from traversing through the cold mountain passes, and she turned towards him, nodding but not speaking. Moments stretched on in which she gazed about the castle grounds in silence, apparently having forgotten he was there at her behest.

Feeling his nerves growing ever thinner, Cullen shook his head. “Inquisitor, we both have important-”

“Have I offended you somehow?” She asked petulantly, and Cullen felt his certainty waiver at her outburst.

“What?”

The Inquisitor’s frown darkened. “Is it because I’m a mage? Is it that I was born into nobility? I thought I’d ruled out both, but now I can’t think of any other reason.”

“I don’t understand. What reason could you-”

“I don’t know how to get close to you!” She blurted abruptly and her face glowed as humiliation filled the entirety of her features. And with the embarrassment the ire only twisted her lips and dipped her brow further as she carried on rapidly. “We talk, we laugh, we enjoy each other’s company - or so I thought - and then the next time I see you it’s like you can’t stand the sight of me!” Her eyes shifted away, dropping down to her own wringing hands before her.

_ ‘Marry me,’ his own voice crooned softly from another miniature glass window; this one held in the blonde woman’s hands while sitting within a small but cozy room furnished most peculiarly. The Inquisitor’s face, full-to-blush, tilted down to the window between her fingers as she spoke in forced calm, though her humiliation was obvious. She explained without looking him in the eye how she had a copy of his voice and where she had procured it, though never admitting - even after the device repeated his plea a second time - why she had picked that particular phrase. He had never said those words to the Inq- to Cora. Had he? _

_ And if he hadn’t,  _ should _ he?  _

It wasn’t an infatuation. The scene was perfectly clear in his mind. There was no nightmarish quality to it, only the strongest sense of familiarity, as though it was a memory. He had considered in that instance whether or not he should make such a proposal to her. Not out of duty, or kindness, but because he loved her enough to want to say it to her.

_ He had loved her. _

_ He loved her still. _

It was enough to rip the air from his lungs, forcing him to take a step back if only to find enough breath to draw. How he knew this, or why it had come about so abruptly did not matter. The emotion overpowered him, driving rational reactions like fear and confusion from his thoughts. 

_ Maker, how he loved her. _

Her fury was all that held him back from acting on his sudden realization, and quickly he tried to temper it. Perhaps too quickly. “No!” He countered. “You have it wrong.”

“Do I,” she demanded, her voice rising with the indignation in her eyes. “On which part? The enjoying each other’s company, or you finding my general existence offensive?”

“I am not offended by you.” He blurted, his own upheaval at her frustrations growing. “What in Andraste’s name gave you that idea?”

Small hands were thrown up to either side of her head. “Oh I don’t know - the general look of disgust that seems so impossible to hide when I enter the room. And the strangest part is that it always happens after I think I’ve finally gotten in your good graces; that I’ve finally managed to earn some place in your heart. Which makes no sense! Why should I be trying to make anyone care about me? Maker, _ what is wrong with me? _ ”

Every inch of Cullen’s frame froze. She had said-

“Commander.” The call came from behind him, and Cullen cursed the distraction and ill luck. Slowly he turned, hoping the man would recognize his own poor timing without Cullen having to speak. Yet the unfortunate scout was entirely too focused on the parchment in his grasp to set eyes on the scene before him. “You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.”

“What?” The demand was given from between bared teeth, yet the scout - Jim… something - failed to notice.

“Sister Leliana’s report.” The man said, finally lifting his gaze to his Commander. “You wanted it delivered ‘without delay.’”

Cullen said nothing, not trusting himself to avoid the words that would have an irreparable effect on this soldier’s future. Instead he glared at his subordinate with every ounce of seething fury he felt for the man at that moment. The poor fool became increasingly confused and nervous when Cullen maintained his stare before outright panicking as he turned his eyes on the Inquisitor.

“Or… to your office…” the scout amended meekly. “Right.” And as quickly as he could, Jim backed off several paces before turning and sprinting the rest of the way to Cullen’s door.

At his back the Inquisitor huffed. “I don’t know why I’m here,” she muttered. “It’s not like you-”

He didn’t think. He didn’t allow himself to. If he thought he could very well succeed in making a bumbling mess of everything. He’d thought enough up until now. It was time to stop thinking.

He was a man of action, and act he did.

His hands caught up her neck and jawline as his lips captured hers; her skin heating his palms through his gloves with the intensity of her mortified blush. A whimper escaped her nose, yet she didn’t pull away. Though the wall was behind her he was careful to make himself aware of her body language, ready to pull back from her if she tried to break the contact.

Her lips plucked back at his and the intensity of his efforts quieted as he felt worry at her reaction slip away. He allowed her opportunity to reciprocate as she saw fit before ending the kiss so that she - they - might catch their breath.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured softly, an abashed smile plastered across his face. “That was… really nice.”

Her eyes were wide before him for an instant before at last allowing a small smile of her own; a mischievous glint to her eyes that told Cullen he wasn’t entirely pardoned yet. “There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No!” He blurted quickly and then returned her soft smile. “No, no not at all.” And to show her his honestly at that moment he bent his head down to her again and reclaimed her mouth.

Such was the joy he experienced at kissing this woman that even when her tongue reached out to flick his scar, just as he recalled from his dream, he felt no fear.

Nothing could touch him when she was in his arms.

Nothing.

XXXX

_ She was helping him into his armor; her eyes bright and smiling though he knew her heart to be anything but. He knew it because he was mourning what was to come as well. _

_ "In spite of everything, I find myself worrying that this is somehow the end," his voice was soft and sad, "that when I return to Thedas, I will lose you." _

_ Cora’s smile lit her face with only enough hesitation to tell him that it had been forced, and she nodded. "It won't be easy," she admitted as she worked his vambrance into place, "but we're going to make it work. We've come too far to just give up now. I'll take care of what I have to on this side, and once I'm done I'll be back in Thedas with you, just like before." Her eyes blinked but she raised them to his gaze anyway. "And you won't even know that I wasn't there for a while." She bent her head back down to work on fastening the rest of his armor to his arm, assuring him that it would all go back to how it was before all of this. Like the last few weeks hadn’t taken place at all. _

_ "But something did happen," Cullen pressed, "I won't deny what we've experienced here." _

_ "True," she mulled, "but there is a chance we won't remember what happened here. Like when you forget your dreams after waking up." _

Cullen’s eyes slid open in the dark of his chambers; the words ringing in his mind so loudly he might have just heard them spoken into his ears.

The dreams were becoming more difficult to forget with each time he woke from them, and impossible to avoid. He had felt it in his dream then just as he did now; the thought that perhaps it would be easier if he could just forget. If he never remembered these dreams he’d not live in fear of them every day.

Dread began to take root at the dream that was too vivid to be what it seemed, and yet had never actually occurred to make it memory. But just as his stomach began to turn cold with worry, words from the fantasy whispered in his thoughts; the remnants of it finally dying off with the disembodied voice in his mind. 

_ "We'll just have to wait and see what happens," his beloved’s void was tender, yet hopeful. "But whatever does happen, we're in it together." _

A shuddering breath bled from his throat as, for the first time, Cullen hoped he had just glimpsed a bit of truth in his madness, and that perhaps he wouldn’t have to endure alone.

XXXX

At last, it was time for action! 

They were on their way to a ball at the Winter Palace, with Cullen the only one among their travel party who had openly spoken out against the plan. He had been willing to go as a soldier to protect the Empress, but when Josephine had announced they were to all wear formal attire and attend the ball as guests, though guests with an agenda, Cullen had balked visibly.

Cora was well aware of his opinion on nobility and all that went with it. But she wondered if Cullen would change his mind about not wanting to attend once he saw her outfit. She certainly hoped that he might at least reconsider. 

The decision had been that those representing the Inquisition at the ball would wear a dress uniform, but when Cora’s garment chest had been delivered to her chambers she had found something different inside. Iridescent fabric of the deepest blue-green created a gown that cascaded down in rippling waves from waistline to floor, with a corset and bodice designed more for appeal than breathing capacity. And where most nobles wore gloves or long sleeves, Cora’s dress ended in form-fitting caps at her shoulders, making it impossible to disguise her mark. 

Josephine - being Josephine - would only respond to Cora’s requests for an explanation with the argument that the Inquisitor must appear to be no less than the equal of those who would seek to manipulate or undermine her, and so proper apparel was essential. It was part of the game, after all. 

Not wanting the Inquisition’s elite to seem unaligned to her, or too far beneath her in stature, Cora had immediately ordered changes made to the dress uniform the others were to wear. To her knowledge only Josephine knew of the finished product once Cora had finalized the design.

The strangest part of it all had been the process of commissioning the alterations. Red was a striking color for the Inquisition’s uniforms but the design had been a bit plain, with her own ensemble setting her too far apart from the Inquisition’s appearance in Cora’s taste. And so a simple order to change colors had quickly escalated into the fashioner retrieving bolts of fabric, stretching out silken braids in specific hues, and sketching embroidery patterns that could serve as the intricate details which would place the Inquisition as fashion equals - if not superiors - to most nobles.

In less than twenty minutes Cora had completely redesigned the formal attire for the Inquisition, while keeping Cullen in the forefront of her mind as she worked. She didn’t understand why, but she  _ had _ to see him wearing this.

With the order set and the final drawing laid out before her, Cora had peered at the blank face of the model sketched out on the roll of paper before her and fell into helpless peals of amused laughter. For some unknown reason it seemed like the perfect punchline to an unspoken joke.

She couldn’t wait to see it in person!

XXXX

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think one more chapter of familiarity. Then we'll head into Crazy Town. Okay?


	5. Chapter 5:  Hunted

##  **Chapter 5: Hunted**

Cullen sat rooted in silence, peering down into the chest that had been delivered to his tent. The Inquisition’s procession had stopped several leagues from the Winter Palace to dress in their uniforms and prepare themselves for their arrival. Crates had been unloaded from the supply wagon containing chests marked with the names of those who would be attending the ball; Cullen’s own name elegantly scrawled above the mark of the Inquisition in black ink. Within the box, wrapped within a layer of white linen used to protect against dust, was a formal coat - blue velvet displaying ropes of golden silk and brocade while threadwork in similar hues trimmed the garment at its cuffs and shoulders. His mind engulfed his senses at the sight.

_ ‘Maybe some gold hose and-’ _

_ ‘Enough!’ Cullen’s voice had been loud but without force and Cora’s lightly amused laughter filled his ears. ‘I’ll go if only to keep you from actually making good on your mad scheming. Andraste preserve me, I know better than to think you wouldn’t follow through.’ _

Careless of his grip on the delicate fabric, Cullen wrenched the coat from the chest and nearly sagged when he found the fine black trousers which laid beneath and not thin golden stockings he had feared. It wasn’t the thought of wearing something so garish that troubled him, however.

Turning his eyes back to the vestment in his hand, Cullen eased his grip and held the coat out before himself. The blue had a faint green hue to it when he tilted it slightly in the light, like the plumage of a peacock. He was certain that if he held the gold silk to his head the shades of his strands and the fabric would match almost exactly. 

The onslaught of the dream had been vivid and played on within his mind, though now he had enough control over his faculties to act apart from the vision. In another place, somewhere he had never been, she had described this exact garb to him – threatened him with it in playful torment.

But if he had never been in that place to have that conversation with her, how had she done this? How was he now holding the very garment she had threatened him with so he would allow her to take him for new clothes? Did she know? 

With the uniform in hand Cullen strode from his tent. There was no question this had been Cora’s doing. With all the purpose of a man marching off to battle, Cullen cut a path to the Inquisitor’s tent, pausing only long enough to announce himself and for her to admit entry.

“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded harshly, having allowed the growing sense of horror to fuel his irritation until he forgot decorum. Across the tent Cora turned from her mirror, blinking at him in surprise; her hands raised behind her head as she worked to pin up her hair. Her brow wrinkled in confusion but Cullen was too far into his agitation to take notice beyond growing impatient for a response.

“It’s a gown,” she said slowly, letting her eyes trail down to the folds of fine blue satin draping her body. “Josephine wanted me to look the part.”

“I meant this,” he growled and tossed the uniform coat on the small table between them, burying her hair brush and pins beneath the thick velvet. With an accusatory wave of his hand he gestured to the table. “Why did you do this?”

Cora scowled, her confusion beginning to shift into something more severe though her voice still held its composure. “Because you need to wear formal attire to attend,” she responded, “just like the rest of us.”

“That is not what I asked.” He barked, and Cora dropped her hands, her honey locks spilling over her shoulders while only a few locks remained atop her head. Her spine straightened and she turned eyes as hard as tempered steel on him.

“Then why don’t you explain what you mean and I’ll give you a suitable answer,” she returned darkly, “because right now all I see is a grown man pouting at having to wear a coat he doesn’t like.”

“Is that really all that you see?” Cullen demanded. “Because I am looking at an outfit that precisely matches-” his voice broke, the sentence choking off in his throat as he found himself suddenly fearful to finish the statement. Maker, why could he not say the words to her?

“My gown?” Cora finished when he hesitated, her tone heated though not to the same level Cullen had been displaying. “The gown that Josephine designed for me specifically? Yes, Cullen, you would see that. Because that’s what you have. An Inquisition uniform that matches the Inquisitor’s gown for the purposes of appearing unified. Just as we should.”

“Now,” she pressed, carefully lifting his coat from her things and circling the table to stand before him, “are you going to tell me what really has you baring your teeth at me like a mabari? Or are we going to keep pretending it’s this jacket?”

“I-” Maker, she was right. He had stormed into her tent and behaved no better than a war hound. And for what? To confront her about a dream he had just experienced? What a fool he had been! He sighed, feeling his temper falter as the blossom of shame began to take its place. How could he have behaved in such a way – to  _ her _ no less? “Forgive me.” It was a plea of honest repentance even if it could not be delivered serenely. His voice quavered slightly and he watched as the expression of the woman before him softened. 

With a sigh of her own Cora straightened the rumpled fabric in her grasp before holding it out to him. “I wish you would tell me what’s happening, Cullen. You’re not alone, remember.”

_ Her hand had been engulfed by his and he had wondered after how he had not shattered the bones in his grip. In spite of the pain she must have felt in his grasp she had spoken softly; her voice reassuring in its calm confidence. He had not been alone then. _

_ He had not been alone upon waking on her angular sofa. She had been curled within an armchair not far from him; the tiny window within her hands illuminating her face with its soft glow. _

Yet that had all been a dream and this was reality. She cared for him, he knew, but could she still care if she knew of his troubles? He had never wanted anyone before as he wanted her now, and fear of the loss of her held his tongue.

And so Cullen only nodded, silently retrieved his uniform from her outstretched hand, and left.

XXXX

The voices droned on around him, but Cullen ignored them to the best of his ability, peering past the balustrade and down to the space where dozens of dancers spun round with one another; billowing blossoms of brightly colored fabrics creating a show that would dazzle most onlookers.

One spectacle in particular caught his attention and he watched as a figure adorned in shimmering dark blue twirled with a partner clad bright yellow from cap to boots. Cora had been obligated to dance with several dignitaries from the Orlesian court once the celebration had commenced. Being a figurehead herself, it was more difficult for her to politely decline the offers as Cullen had successfully done so far. 

Yet the fact that political decorum required her to dance did little to ease his sour mood. His earlier upset had diminished but its shadow had carried over into the evening. He wanted only to safeguard the Empress as they had intended and be done with the whole affair. And while he could understand the need for political alliances and protocol, that did not mean he had to have patience for it all. 

Worse than the politics were the shameless flirtations. Several women, and a handful of men, had taken up what appeared to be permanent residence in his immediate vicinity and had spent the better portion of the evening competing for his attention. And though he was in no mood to bestow it, it did not seem to deter any of them. 

The strands of the musical piece came to an end and the figure clad in all yellow dipped low before Cora, lifting her hand to his lips politely. Cullen swallowed back his irritation and glanced at the man beside him who had been persistent in his desire to fetch Cullen a drink, or a savory moursel from one of the servants’ silver trays. But peppered within these polite offers were those of a more suggestive nature, implying the nobleman’s willingness to pair off with the Ferelden Commander for more than a simple turn on the dance floor. At one particularly flagrant invitation Cullen felt his thoughts swept from his control.

_ They had been waiting patiently in line for what Cora assured him would be a treat when he observed with displeasure that they were being watched. Half of her arm and her face were obscured within the brightly colored satchel she had kept over her shoulder through their excursion to purchase him new clothing. The sound of her laugh muffled by the fabric as she searched for the coin to purchase their food. _

_ ‘Hey, I can’t fault a girl for admiring such a nice view.’ _

_ ‘You-what?’ Cullen felt his face heat in embarrassment as he maintained his eye contact with the men presently fixated on them before correcting her assumption that the people staring at him were women. The Inquisitor’s blonde head snapped from her bag as her gaze swept their surroundings with great interest. _

_ ‘Ooh! Really? Where? Are they cute?’ She seemed nearly excited by the prospect of men finding him attractive and he didn’t know if he should be amused by her antics or concerned she may prove more interested in such a coupling than he was comfortable with. He held no issue with such pairings, yet knew that for himself personally it was not desired. _

_ ‘Maker’s breath, are you serious? You can’t be serious.’ _

When at last he was able to wrestle control of his faculties, he found his would-be suitor gazing at him with an expression he could not make out from behind the mask.

“Why Commander, I do believe you are blushing. Is it the heat of the room, or are you perhaps more interested in that dance than you are admitting?”

Cullen ground his teeth silently, squaring his shoulders as he resumed his attempt at a disinterested stance. He wished once again that he had been allowed to wear a sword in which he could rest his hand upon. For now his arms crossed over his chest would have to do and with only a glance from the corner of his eye he gave polite response.

“Thank you, no.” His voice was as civil as he could muster, but it was growing tiresome. They leered at him and he resisted the urge to shrink back from the piercing eyes behind the masks. Maker, how much longer would they need to remain here?

He watched as a familiar head of golden hair bobbed its way slowly towards him through the crowd, all the while fending off the latest prodding into his marital status until at last, the object of his fixation stood before him.

“Inquisitor,” he said pointedly, shifting his stance to appear at attention. With luck, he could drive off those surrounding him, “did you need something?”

Cora’s eyes swept over the crowd. When her eyes fell on the outrageous man beside Cullen the Commander was certain he had almost witnessed a smirk cross her lips. “You’ve become quite popular,” she said flatly as she returned her attention to him, though her eyes twinkled with mischief. “New friends I gather. Who are they?”

Cullen maintained composure with difficulty. He would not project the fears of his memories or dreams on her again. Not here. Not when he could not be certain she was finding amusement in him having male suitors and compounded with her apparent forgiveness for his earlier outburst. “I don’t know,” he admitted, hardening his words against the stutter which longed to break free, “but they won’t leave me alone.”

There. Let her think on that statement. Perhaps she would not find it so amusing if she knew he had no patience for this nonsense. 

To his relief her eyes lost their spark of mischief and she gave a small compliant nod. “Would you like to dance the next with me?”

“No. Thank you,” he blurted quickly and then instantly regretted the reaction at her soft yet clearly disappointed utterance. 

“Oh.” 

A different distress filled him and he feared he had spurned her attempt at showing him socially acceptable affection. “No - I-I didn’t mean to-”

“Inquisitor,” one of Cullen’s throng spoke through a flourished bow, “if you are not already engaged, I would be happy to take your Commander’s place on the dance floor… and anywhere else you may care for my attentions.”

The man’s hand lifted to take Cora’s in spite of her obvious reluctance to participate in the exchange and Cullen felt himself move by instinct alone before slender fingers could be brought to the lips exposed beneath a shield of porcelain. His grip found the Orlesian’s wrist before the other man could react; the pressure of his grasp not enough to cause damage, but enough to inform the man that Cullen was anything but amused.

“You will show the proper respect when addressing the Inquisitor,” he growled, “and refrain from making such offers to a woman you know nothing of.”

“Y-yes, Commander,” the nobleman stuttered nervously, trying to tug his arm free without causing more discomfort to himself, “forgive me.”

“Not to me.” Cullen spat. “Apologize to the Inquisitor.”

“F-forgive me, Inquisitor,” the rake stammered and Cora nodded a perfunctory gesture at Cullen, who complied without hesitation. Freed, the Orlesian bowed once and hurried away, cradling his arm as he went; the spectacle enough to drive his other admirers back a few paces. 

“Cullen,” the woman before him hissed quietly but vehemently, “you can’t brutalize the Empress’ guests!”

“I’ve been listening to that letcher’s idea of ‘attentions’ for half an hour,” Cullen growled. “What he offered you was repulsive.”

“I know perfectly well what he was offering,” she argued. “I’ve been receiving them all night. Do you think I’m incapable of driving off my own suitors?”

Cullen’s skin prickled at the admission. “You’ve been propositioned by others?” The idea of strangers treating Cora -  _ the Inquisitor _ \- as a woman of negotiable affections infuriated him. He wanted to believe it was because the Inquisitor was entitled to a degree of respect greater than average nobility. A darker part of his mind, one he was usually able to suppress, knew it was something more than that. It was possessive and primal, yet it was preferable to what he had been experiencing before and so he embraced it.

“Do you honestly believe you’re the only one who has been pursued tonight?” Cora demanded. “They don’t care about rank here - it’s all part of the game. A pretty face simply makes the game more enjoyable.”

Politics. Maker he detested such ploys!

“He should not have spoken to you in such a way,” the Commander maintained stubbornly, his arms returning to fold over his chest.

“Agreed. But remember what Josephine said about the game. If you don’t allow me to speak for myself people may start to see me as nothing more than a figurehead at the front of the Inquisition’s ship; polished but ultimately useless.”

“Impossible,” he argued. “You seal the rifts where no one else can. Everyone knows that the Inquisition would not be the force it is without your leadership.”

“Fine. So I’m not an entirely useless figurehead,” she amended, but this time allowed the small smirk she had withheld to surface. “Anyway, I’m glad to see Cole was wrong about you.”

“Wrong?” Cullen started slightly at the spirit’s name. The way that boy - creature - could look into a person’s head-

“He said you were afraid,” she replied, “that you were being hunted. The hunting I see, but not the fear.” Her smile slipped slightly as she studied his face, “or maybe...”

“It’s unsettling, nothing more.” Cullen quickly gathered himself. He would not give her cause for alarm here. “It’s no secret that I’ll be glad to be gone from this place. The sooner we track down this infiltrator, the better.” 

“Well then,” Cora took a bracing breath and Cullen stepped back into attention, awaiting a possible order. “I should be off to see about that. Take care, Cullen.” The parting was also a warning as her eyes flicked to the masked figures surrounding them. She would have to abandon him to the game.

“You do the same, Inquisitor,” he said softly, “come back soon.”

Her fingers reached out to graze against his gloved hand in passing as she stepped away and it was only when she was out of sight that he felt his nerves return. His admirers were eyeing him again, some smiling beneath their half masks while others were obscured behind their decorations.

If Cora had driven off her own suitors, he would do the same. He may not know this game they played, but he was a quick study. Mia and Branson had seen to that. So when the stranger before him began to simper and let slip small hints Cullen took note of the ring upon her finger and with a smile politely asked for the name of her husband.

XXXX

It had been hours. Dawn would be breaking over the mountains soon and, in spite of the approaching end to the galla, the entire castle was a bustle of celebration. Celene was alive, her conspirators prisoners, and the Inquisition hailed as the saviors of the throne of Orlais. The newly appointed guest of honor was not among the revelers, though. Cullen peered into the masses in search of the impressive blue gown, but could not find her. From a few dozen paces away Dorian caught his gaze and shook his head with a shrug.

Unexpectedly a figure slipped up beside him, seemingly from nowhere, and Cullen did his best not to flinch.

“Hunter and hunted,” Cole said without looking at him, “protector and prey. They seek her out with smiles and schemes. Was she right? Or did she doom them all? No one will tell her.”

“Where is she?” Cullen was confident he was speaking of Cora and that the words the spirit spoke were the fears playing out in her mind. He needed to find her.

“Her thoughts are loud,” Cole replied in a soft whine, “there’s no quiet in this place.”

Cullen’s head turned; the double doors to the balcony were open. Without a word in parting to the boy he made his way through the exit, passing the Empress’ mage as she entered the palace. Beyond he found Cora leaning against the railing and gazing off into nothing; the set of her shoulders and obvious tension in her spine a clear indication that she did not share the sentiments of the revelers within. Cole’s eery recitals had apparently held true once more.

“There you are,” he kept his voice light as he joined her at the balustrade, leaning over the stone ledge to meet her eyes. “Everyone’s been looking for you. Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you all right?” 

She hesitated briefly before at last responding. “I’m just worn out. Tonight has been… very long.” 

“For all of us,” he admitted candidly, “I’m glad it’s over.”

She was quite clearly more subdued than usual, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. He would not let her know Cole had betrayed her thoughts, but he had to say something to console her. “I know it was foolish of me to worry for you tonight. You had every right to be upset. Can you forgive me?”

Cora smiled slightly, though without much sincerity. “Possibly.”

His own lips quirked in amusement when the ballroom erupted in applause as one dance ended and another began. Suddenly, he knew exactly what she needed.

“Then permit me to make amends.” Stepping back he was pleased when Cora turned and watched him quizzically as he bowed formally, holding a hand out to her in invitation. “May I have this dance, My Lady?”

Though still visibly fatigued, the wrinkle left her brow and she smiled in earnest. “Good Ser!” The words were teasing as she tried to apply his Ferelden accent to her own tongue. “I thought you didn’t dance.”

His arm slipped around her waist and her hand slid into his gloved palm perfectly. “For you,” he murmured, “I’ll try.”

He did not feel as graceful as those nobles who twirled with such effortless ease on the dance floor of the palace, but with her in his arms he felt no insecurity at his clumsy steps. She was radiant in her finery and joy; tucked to his chest and safely away from those who would use her toward their own gains. Her smile was for him alone; her laughter for his ears. His heart felt close to bursting with pride at the knowledge that he gave her this freedom to set aside her fears and duty and simply be herself. She teased and encouraged and forgot the rest of the world with him and in her happiness Cullen found his as well.

If just for this dance, together, they found the peace they had sought.

XXXX

  
  



	6. Chapter 6:  Remember

**Chapter 6: Remember**

The cacophony of battle was everywhere, and yet Cullen remained focused on his duties. His attention was divided between the state of their soldiers, the placement of the trebuchets, and securing the safety of the entourage of Inquisition elite. At the fore of that small clutch was the bobbing blonde head of a mage presently hurling fireballs at the castle ramparts as she went. The Inquisitor had declared that the Warden’s actions were not to be tolerated, and now sought to reign in a sect which had thus far answered to no one but themselves. 

The Wardens’ stronghold, Adamant, was a fortress in every sense of the word, but it was not impenetrable. The Inquisition’s siege engines were already at work on the gates while the men set ladders to the walls, scaling their heights to take out the archers and stave off the flow of flaming arrows and stones from the castle. His soldiers were currently satisfying Cullen’s standards for combat prowess, for their uniforms now dotted the castle walkways and the crash of the reinforced doors as they gave way erupted without unnecessary delay.

Once the interior of the castle lay open, the Inquisitor was among the first to breach its boundaries from the ground with her Commander quickly following suit. Cullen promised he and his men would do whatever was necessary to keep the main host of demons from her; providing the opportunity to clear the ramparts and find Warden Commander Clarel. Then she and her hand-picked entourage were gone, and Cullen returned to his soldiers so he could issue the orders which would, with the Maker’s blessing, carry them to victory.

With an efficiency that rivaled that of the soldiers, the Inquisitor and her companions purged Warden and demon alike from the heights and granted the Inquisition’s forces safe passage into the fortress. Cullen trained one eye to her as she moved to advance, the glow of her mark on occasion blazing brightly as she removed a foe from her path. Simultaneously he ordered their men to secure the castle and provide the Inquisitor with whatever assistant they could. Ascending to the vacated ramparts to gain a better vantage point, Cullen delegated to his men below, continuously moving in order to keep the Inquisitor in his sights; ensuring she encountered as little hindrance as possible. When Hawke joined her side, Cullen felt both relief and trepidation. Hawke was a skilled fighter and a loyal ally, yet the Champion had the remarkable knack for landing herself and those who fought with her in a great deal of trouble.

At last the Inquisitor reached the ritual grounds near the center of the fortress. Cullen could see the desperation in her mannerisms – if not hear her – as Cora pleaded with the Wardens; her words seemingly accompanied by Stroud’s own arguments, though to no obvious effect. With an unintelligible order from the Warden Commander, a rift tore open within the center of the plaza. As Hawke and Stroud both plead frantically with the Wardens’ sensibilities, the Inquisitor had fallen eerily still.

With a curt command, Cullen ordered the soldiers into the fray, watching as Cora’s posture indicated that she spoke with the Warden Commander. Her words unintelligible, yet her stance implied she was doing her level best to talk reason back into the Wardens. Cullen’s lips tightened in anger. Their efforts would be in vain, he knew. The Wardens had long since abandoned reason.

He diverted his attention just long enough to attend to the support needs of a small squadron of mages embattled against several demons when a horrible roar instantaneously filled the air above their heads. Turning back the the plaza in which the Inquisitor stood, Cullen watched in horror as the grotesque dragon he had witnessed lay waste to Haven soared over their heads, spitting red energy as it winged back to perch atop the closest battlement. The clamour of soldiers and Wardens fell silent, reducing the battlefield to a landscape of unspoken horror. Unimpeded by the din of fighting, the guttural sounds the creature emanated filled the air and for just a moment Cullen forgot to breathe. This dragon had heralded destruction and nearly obliterated the Inquisition during its infancy. After so many months Cullen’s insides still turned to ice at the recollection. The memory of Cora staying behind to face the monster most prevalent. The effort had very nearly cost her her life. 

Clarel was the first to act; loosing purple energies at the magister and then immediately turning her sights on the decaying dragon. As one the Wardens reacted, cries of ‘archdemon’ rose from their ranks as they turned against the demons they were responsible for summoning. A small handful joined the Inquisitor as she set her sights on the colossal demon standing between her and the path the Warden and magister had fled. With little patience Cora engaged the Pride demon only long enough to circle around it before rushing headlong after Clarel and her prey; her party close on Clarel’s heels as the Inquisition’s Commander bellowed for his soldiers to follow. Bounding along the ramparts Cullen worked to match pace enough to keep Cora within his sights, cursing her as he ran. 

_ The madwoman intended to fight the monster herself for a second time!  _

Light flared in the distance as the Warden Commander and the magister engaged in battle atop Adamant. At present, however, Cullen only had eyes for the pale figure of the Inquisitor racing forward after the dragon; his voice shouting into the void for his soldiers to aid the Inquisitor. In that moment, a small semblance of pride broke through his fear at the quick response and unswerving loyalty his soldiers demonstrated as they moved to follow her in spite of the overwhelming odds. The fear lessened slightly as Cora stopped short at the ramparts’ entrance where the two mages fought, only to return anew as she rushed in herself, staff drawn and hand sparking. 

Hurtling towards her, Cullen watched in horror as the massive creature she had pursued plunged towards the stonework his beloved now occupied, snatching Warden Commander Clarel from her feet as it ascended before diving back towards the masonry to slam the woman into the castle. With her final act, magical energies exploded from the Warden, enveloping the beast and its surroundings; stonework crumbling outward from the blast rapidly.

Even from this distance Cora’s reaction was heart-jarring. She stumbled before turning, legs pumping furiously as she raced the castle’s doom, her head twisting as she turned to peer behind her. To Cullen’s dread she abruptly stopped her flight, crouching to pull Warden Stroud to his feet after a falling stone dropped the man to a knee, and the Commander’s thoughts reeled fruitlessly against her heroics.

Time seemed to slow for Cullen in that moment as the castle opened beneath their feet; Cora practically leaping from one falling stone to the next until at last her strides were no longer enough to outpace the devastation. Her arms pinwheeled before her as she clawed into empty air, reaching for the safety of the ledge that was crumbling further and further from her and tearing her companions down with it. Stroud was the first to join Cora in her deadly descent, followed by Bull, with Dorian and Sera not a heartbeat behind.

An unthinking cry of terror tore from his lips as Cora plummeted into the chasm beneath the castle ramparts, hurtling towards the rocks which were breaking pieces of masonry as large as cottages already. In the air the blonde mage twisted and writhed, her hand stretched towards the ground before exploding in green energies greater than any he had ever known her to summon without aid.

The void beneath her answered the call of her mark as a rift tore open from nothingness, hanging stationary in the sky as Cora and her companions plunged into it; their frantic forms vanishing from sight within its fierce glow.

Its mistress gone, the rift snapped shut with a searing clap; casting the chasm into darkness once more and leaving nothing but the residual thunder of destruction in its wake. 

The shrill scream of a mortally wounded man pricked his ears and Cullen turned, his mind frantically tripping over itself until he laid eyes on the source of the sound; a terror demon looming over a fallen soldier, its claws dripping blood.

Purpose returned almost as sharply as the disappearance of the Inquisitor’s rift, and Cullen charged in. The prone man still breathed and Cullen refused to allow this creature to be the last thing he saw. His sword slashed through the air as his shield battered against the demon, tossing it back from the man with a guttural roar.

It was simple, almost second nature, to face off against the demon. Years of training and practice came on as nearly instinct and his body moved almost of its own accord. He called upon skills honed as a templar, purging demons from his presence while shouting orders to his soldiers to support this or that injured man, beginning with the soldier who had first captured his attention. Those who came to his aid were dismissed; his concern at this point was to see to the safety of as many men as possible, and too many had already fallen to the demons’ fangs. The creatures’ numbers were growing with every minute the rift within the plaza lay open, while the Inquisition’s numbers were finite- even with the addition of the Wardens to their ranks.

The cry of another caught his ear and Cullen turned, laying eyes on a rage demon that had taken hold of an archer across the expanse of the ramparts. White light illuminated in a pillar through the creature as Cullen called forth the Wrath of Heaven, decimating the demon and several others in its vicinity; the men engaged against those demons crying out in triumph at their Commander’s success; unwitting to the sudden emptiness which spread through his body. Without Lyrium employing such tactics was dangerous, but to avoid them in their current circumstance was unconscionable.

Lines of searing pain drew across his shoulders and the squeal of metal across his shoulder blades was nearly lost beneath his own cry of pain. Reeling, Cullen turned to face the terror demon at his back, its lanky arms slashing out once more to catch at the seam between chestplate and pauldron. Blood plumed from the wound and Cullen stumbled, hefting his sword to slash at the demon before him. The attack struck true and the terror demon recoiled in pain.

“Cullen!” Cassandra’s voice called from the castle interior, and from his peripheral he caught sight as she drove her sword into a nearby demon, wrenching the blade free before the molten beast fell to her feet. With quick steps she ascended the stairs and peered critically at his shoulder and the rivulets of blood streaking his armor. “You cannot fight like that. If you try you will only make it worse before you bleed out.” Her head swiveled until she found two soldiers. “You there! Get the Commander to a healer. Now!”

“Yes Seeker.” One of the soldiers saluted before awkwardly taking Cullen by the arm which had sustained fewer injuries, yet the ranking officer shrugged the man off. 

“I’ll be fine,” he growled, “get back to your-”

“Commander,” the title was spoken as though scolding a child and Cassandra leveled a gaze of tempered steel on him. “Do not be unreasonable. Tend to your injuries and let us see to securing the castle.” Her chin jerked at the soldiers. “Go. And report back to me when you have delivered him to the tents.”

“C-commander?” The soldier peered hesitantly from the Seeker to his commanding officer, clearly torn between his orders. With a growl Cullen relented.

“I am capable of taking myself to the tents.” He grated and Cassandra gave a curt nod.

“Excellent. Then these men will escort you to ensure you encounter no more threats on your way.”

Unwilling to hide his outrage Cullen let his feelings be known to his friend for only a second before pivoting and marching with more vigor than he felt down to the tents beyond the castle walls. There he allowed Cassandra’s chosen emissaries to see him to the tents established to tend to the wounded.

“I will fetch the healer, sir. Borris here will inform Lady Cassandra that you are receiving treatment. Will you require anything else of us?”

“That will be all,” Cullen barked and the two men saluted before scurrying from his sight. It was ridiculous for him to be sequestered for a few trivial scratches. The encampment had been established to treat those with life threatening injuries, not to slap bandages on a man who had been foolish enough to let a claw get through his armor.

Teeth gnashing, Cullen stood and strode from the tents. He would not be treated like an overly pampered noble while his men were dying within the walls. He was a soldier, and Templar trained at that. His abilities could save dozens of lives - perhaps more. Cassandra may have meant well but her interference would prove fatal if he allowed it to continue.

His sword sang free of its sheath and his shield lifted the moment he re-entered the gates; the noise of battle surrounding him once more as he pushed on, first to a despair demon that had taken a young mage by surprise and then to a shade that simply was unfortunate enough to cross his path. Onward he battled, the flesh of his shoulder burning with every exertion he placed on it. But he had faced worse than this before. He would not allow his men to fall as long as he drew breath. And as long as the rift remained open-

The shriek came just as the shredding pain found him, and in his present state of distraction while smiting a rage demon Cullen failed to put up a defense against the shade that descended upon him. Talons lashed out, sending his shield clattering to the stone beneath his feet, tearing fabric as it found the flesh between bracer and pauldron. With a roar Cullen impaled the creature on his sword, stumbling as he pulled it free.

“Commander!” A man’s voice at his side called to him frantically and Cullen groaned when an arm encircled his waist. “Find Knight-Captain Rylen! Hurry!” The unfamiliar soldier’s orders were heeded by a fellow member of the Inquisition as Cullen pulled free with an irritatingly abundant effort.

“Keep sharp,” he commanded pointedly, turning to assess their situation. “You men, secure that passage there. Choke off that entrance so the demons can’t flank you. Do not let them at our backs!”

“Sir!” The order was obeyed without question by all accept the man who had sent for Rylen.

“Commander, you’re losing too much blood.”

“There’s no time for that.” Cullen barked. “The rift is still open. We must secure the castle if we are to have any chance at survival. Now get down there and-”

“Commander!” The soldier’s voice lifted in panic as he readied his daggers and flung himself around Cullen; steel clashing against razor-tipped fingers as geater terror phased into being at his back. Cullen staggered back before setting steel to bone and striking out against the creature. The soldier at his side fought valiantly, parrying strikes with his blades until a talon pierced his chest, dropping his corpse to the pavers as though the man was inconsequential. Cullen seethed; teeth bared as he bellowed his fury at the creature before him.

A roar of outrage flooded his ears and filled him with vigor, and Cullen did not have to look to know that Cassandra had entered the fray, her rallying cry providing him with the boon he had needed; a second familiar voice testifying that she had not come alone. 

The scream of another demon at his back gave Cullen leave to return his attention to his aggressor, and with a primal shout of his own Cullen charged in; his sword slicing relentlessly through air and bone alike. The demon crumpled to the ground, but as it did claws raked down his thigh, and the Commander could not withhold the cry of pain which ripped from his chest. Unlike his torso his legs did not bear substantial armor, and the terror demon’s talons dug deep into his flesh as they pulled; dragging Cullen to the stonework with it.

“Cullen!” Cassandra’s voice boomed from behind him and the gutteral sounds of her own struggle lasted only a few seconds longer until she was kneeling at his side. “I might have known,” she spat, pulling a bandage from her pack to tie about his thigh before pulling his arm over her shoulder; Rylen stepping in to take up the other arm. Cullen hissed at the sting of torn flesh as it stretched at their assistance. 

“I’ll be alright,” he said dismissively, “but we must get these men more support. The rift is-”

“These men,” Cassandra interrupted harshly, “are trained soldiers. They know what they must do to survive, just as you should know that you are in no state to go on.”

“Seeker, I cannot-”

“You are not fit to command, Cullen,” Cassandra said pointedly, her piercing gaze holding his. “Will you abide by my decision?”

The words hammered into him as powerfully as a physical blow. They were words she had vowed to say to him only when the time came, and had proven on many an occasion to consider their utterance unnecessary. Until now.

Resigned Cullen nodded, and allowed the Seeker and Knight-Captain to lead him back to the tents. 

XXXX

The tent was remarkably quiet as he lay upon the cot he had been escorted to; the din of battle muted by the high walls surrounding Adamant. It would have been peaceful were it not for the disorientation of blood loss coupled with the reports he continued to hear, brought by messengers to Rylen who had taken up a position beside the tent. Cassandra had requested the Knight-Captain assign himself this post, giving Cullen a scathing glare that informed him in no uncertain terms that she would see him physically restrained if he attempted to leave again.

Indeed, Cullen was achingly aware of what was taking place inside those walls at this moment. His men were dying, and without the Inquisitor there was no hope of closing the rift and stemming the tide of demons.

_ Cora.  _

His heart constricted painfully. She had not fallen to her death, but that was of little consolation at this point. She had passed into a Fade rift, and the Maker alone knew where it had taken her. He doubted Cora had even known when she called it forth. 

What was to become of them? Not just in this battle - without the Inquisitor the future of the Inquisition was at stake. There were none capable of sealing rifts as she could, and no one who could claim such divine right to lead as she. Corypheus would stand uncontested. What would they do without her?

What would  _ he _ do?

The thought of losing her was too painful to bear, and he found himself groaning in his misery; his fingers pressing into the corners of his eyes to stave off the burn of tears.

Suddenly without a purpose, Cullen was helpless against the onslaught of fears he had refused to acknowledge; the images of Cora plummeting from the crumbling castle repeating in his mind alongside images of his men falling around him until he was panting, nearly sobbing, praying for relief.

The soldier who had saved him, dying at his Commander’s feet for his efforts.

Cora, plunging through the air; vanishing from this world. Just as-

_ Green light flared brilliantly. _

_ They had been battling their way through Emprise du Lion, closing the Fade rifts one by one in an effort to cut off the flow of demons to the area. He fought at her side, Dorian and Sera with them; the red lyrium’s presence disconcerting though not the debilitation he had suspected it might be. He attributed his relative ease to the Inquisitor’s presence, whether or not she truly had any impact was incidental. Together the entourage teased and taunted and laughed among themselves while Cullen was content simply to walk at the Inquisitor’s side, sharing smiles when they had a peaceful moment. _

_ The world shifted around him and the Inquisitor’s hand was lifted to the rift before them. The strange green light fought her as its predecessors had, before suddenly exploding outward in a flash more violent than that of the others, swallowing the mage and her companions, blinding Cullen to everything around him.  _

_ Knocking him from his feet. _

_ From the ground. _

_ Falling. _

_ Fabric met his cheek with a harsh impact and the green glow which had robbed him of his sight faded to near blackness. Slowly and with great effort Cullen pushed himself to his hands and knees; stunned from a descent that had seemed far longer than a simple stumble. Vertigo overtook him as he struggled to regain his equilibrium. _

_ A noise at his side, quiet and small, caught his attention and he turned, his breath catching in his lungs with a soft gasp. _

_ No trees surrounded him. No snow or grass lay beneath his hands. Instead he knelt in a small room of white walls, carpeted floors, and furnishings which could only be described as foreign. The flash of light reflecting off of a small blade caught his attention as it fell to the floor beside him; as did eyes that were familiar and yet slightly different, while the Inquisitor stood before him gazing in astonishment. He noted instantly that she was unarmed and dressed peculiarly, where moments ago she had been wearing her armor.  _

_ “Maker’s breath!” The voice which chirped from behind her fingers was delicate, light, and decidedly not Cora Trevelyan’s. _

Cullen gasped, sucking in air that tasted of brimstone and blood, the memory not complete before another began its onslaught.

_ Towers of dark glass and metal - taller than any he had ever witnessed - stretched into the skies, closing in like giant fingers waiting to curl over him and pull him down. At their bases carts that seemed to require no horses sped along roads of seamless stone, their noise near to deafening as they rumbled and bleated and emanated rhythms that bore a strange resemblance to music. People dressed oddly walked marginally raised paths of similar construct beside the roads, indifferent to their surroundings. As though all was mundane when Cullen knew it to be anything but. _

_ A noise, distant overhead, roared softly and Cullen felt a surge of panic at the shadow which passed over them. One hand was occupied by a grip on something, yet his sword hand was free and without thought he reached for it; finding it held down as the great beast gleamed in the sky high above, bellowing its otherworldly, airy cry. _

_ He pulled at his blade again and found his efforts thwarted, turning his eyes down towards the figure standing beside him. Cora’s fingers were bound within his and holding his sword hand in place. In her altered and lilting voice she had said something, but the words had been momentarily lost to him. He could barely hear her over their surroundings and the blood pounding furiously within his ears, and it took a moment for him to realize she was trying to calm him. To provide assurance among this madness. _

_ Without thought, he demanded to know where it was she had taken him, for nothing on Thedas could have ever prepared him for such sights. _

The feeling of the cot beneath him and the cool air of the tent enveloped him once more, and he pressed a hand to his head as it spun.

_ Chicago _ . The word came to mind effortlessly when he searched for it. That strange city had been Chicago. Illinois. America. Planet Earth. She had given those names as though he should have been familiar with them but they had only solidified he was somewhere beyond the boundaries of Thedas.

These visions were not hallucinations. They were not waking nightmares or an effect of his Lyrium withdrawals as he had feared. It had been  _ real _ . He had fallen through the Fade, been pulled from one world into another.

Weeks of memories bombarded him in seconds. Cora had not come from Thedas. She had been born in a place called Massachusetts and had created a copy of herself to experience the world of Thedas. A projection she had called it, though a flawed one, for her projection’s voice had been deeper and her manner of speech-

Cullen felt the cot tilt beneath him; his hands grasping at its supports to prevent it from overturning. He remembered that projection. Her voice and the color of her eyes, which had been slightly bluer than Cora’s of today.

He had lived this life before this - with a woman who had been Cora, and not. It was too much; his mind reeled and his stomach lurched though he held back the heave. All of this - it had happened before; was happening  _ again _ . The memories were too clear - too complete - to be hallucinations. He knew them, as he would know his own sister’s face.

Cora - the real Cora - was  _ here _ !

Maker, she had crossed into Thedas just as he had crossed into Chicago! There could be no mistake, for the woman he had followed into Adamant just hours earlier had as much green in her eyes as blue, and a voice light and silvery as it had been in that strange place.

His Cora, whom he had found to be a woman with no magical talent to speak of, had by some miracle of the Maker followed him into Thedas after sending him home.

Cullen’s vision swam as tears obscured his surroundings.

His Cora, who had just fallen through another Fade rift atop the heights of Adamant.

He wanted to leap from the cot, had he the confidence that his feet could find the ground with each step he would take. To pull up his sword and rush into the castle once more. To banish this feeling of helpless loss and save someone. Anyone. Even if it could not be her; his Cora.

Cora Dempkowski, who was once more and forever lost to him.

XXXX 

The glare of the rift faded from her eyes and, to her relief, the sounds of mortal voices filled her ears. Cora stood and watched as her soldiers faced off against the onslaught of demons infesting Adamant. Without a thought the Inquisitor held the mark out before her and curled her fingers over her palm, feeling the rift at her back seal at her command. Demons began to fall one by one as a small number of the men broke into cheers, swords lifted in the air and tired faces beaming up towards her. Undoubtedly her intervention would be seen as divine; the work of Andraste herself through her Herald. Cora would consider those implications later, however. For now there was work to be done.

Beneath the dias her companions were already on their feet; Bull, Dorian, and Sera composing themselves after their time in the Fade with difficulty while Hawke returned to her with a report of their success in staving off disaster and saving the ensnared Warden mages.

Cora had been preparing how best to address the events after her immersion into the Fade when a soldier approached her as Hawke concluded her report, informing the Inquisitor in a rush that the Tevinter magister who had come so close to giving Corypheus his army was alive and imprisoned. “Cassandra thought you might wish to deal with him yourself.” The man informed her.

Cora frowned, puzzled. “Cassandra?” What was the Seeker doing overseeing the Inquisition’s prisoners?

“The Commander is…” Cassandra approached from the castle’s perimeter, hesitating as she visibly searched for the proper words, and Cora’s blood chilled at the pause, “recovering. If you are ready, I will take you to him.”

Delayed by a plea from one of the Wardens for guidance, Cora made a quick invitation for them to stay on and be of service, earning reproach from some and approval from others, before signaling an incensed Cassandra to lead her to their Commander.

The Seeker quickly composed herself and escorted the Inquisitor to a tent just outside of Adamant’s walls; a small encampment growing where the injured were being tended to. Cora felt her trepidation increase at the sight of Rylen standing watch; the man clearly at the center of a great deal of communication.

“Inquisitor. He has not been himself since leaving the battlefield,” the Knight-Captain reported with a salute upon her arrival. “The healers are tending to those in immediate danger, and Cassandra managed to stop the bleeding from the worst of his wounds, but he lost a great deal of blood before that. He has been… agitated.”

Cora’s skin prickled with apprehension, but she held to her composure. “I will see him.” Rylen gave a slight nod and turned to peel back the tent flap; the soft glow of a single candle at the back of the canvas structure insufficient for her to find the man at a glance.

“Cullen?” Cora called quietly as she entered, locating the darkened lantern on the central table. With a pass of her fingers a flame bloomed upon the wick behind the glass, illuminating the interior warmly. “Cullen, I’m here.” She found the Commander sitting at the edge of a low cot; his armor removed and lying about the interior haphazardly. For a man as careful with his equipment as he was with his men, it spoke terribly of his present state. Thick bandages swathed his leg and bare chest and she could easily identify where he had been struck by the red stains which had seeped through the fabric.

A shaking breath emanated from her beloved and Cora knew true panic at the depth of emotion in that sound. “It can’t be,” his voice whispered softly, “it can’t.”

His head turned from her when she called his name once more, though not before Cora caught a glimpse of his features; the misery in his face nearly breaking her heart. “Cullen, tell me what happened?”

“You’re not real,” Cullen whispered quietly, burying his face in his bare hands.

Cora felt her heartbreak twist into true fear. She couldn’t imagine someone of Cullen’s experience would have fallen so easily for a demon’s tricks, yet, he seemed lost to reality.

“I promise you that I am,” she replied, proceeding further into the tent so that she could kneel before him. 

“No,” he moaned, “it’s just as before. You’re a projection, nothing more.” His head shook slowly and he swayed so precariously upon the cot Cora nearly reached up to steady him.

The Inquisitor scowled. “Just as before? What do you mean?”

“You can’t really expect me to believe you’re Cora Dempkowski, can you?” He asked through his palms.

The name tickled her mind, but the spark of curiosity it would have incited typically was quashed beneath the tide of concern enveloping her. “My name is Trevelyan, Cullen,” she said slowly, her tone carefully neutral, “Cora Trevelyan.”

“Precisely,” he muttered. “Cora Dempkowski is gone. Returned to Chicago.”

Like the name, that last word also struck a chord with her, though not so much that she was willing to set aside Cullen’s current plight to explore her fascination with it. Like so many other things, that would have to be considered later.

Resolved, Cora gently took hold of his fingers and pulled them from his face; his complexion noticeably pale but not sickly. “Look at me, Cullen,” she commanded, leaning to one side slightly when his eyes remained fixed from her. Fear twisted like a sharp knife in her stomach. “Look at me, damn it!” At her outburst Cullen’s gaze flicked over to her reflexively and Cora peered into their depths. “It’s me. I’m here.”

An autumn colored gaze met hers, wide and disbelieving. “Can it be?” His scrutiny intensified as he studied her. “Your eyes,” he mused almost to himself, “I can’t make out their shade.”

Cora scowled in puzzlement but stretched out an arm to grasp the candle on his bedside table, holding the flame before her face so it illuminated her features clearly. “They’re blue.”

Slowly, as though pulling himself from a stupor, Cullen shook his head. “No. They are blue-green,” he corrected, his voice reverent as he reached up to touch her face incredulously. “How is this possible?” Without warning he withdrew his touch from her, his eyes hardening. “Rylen!  _ Rylen _ !”

The tent flap flung open; the tattooed man entering; hand on sword. “Ser?”

Without turning from Cora Cullen addressed the Knight-Captain. “Cleanse me.”

Rylen frowned, perplexed. “Come again, Commander?” 

“There have been demons infesting every corner of this castle. I need to know that this is truly the Inquisitor.”

“Ser, Cassandra personally witnessed her return,” the soldier pointed out, “the Inquisitor closed the rift-”

“I gave you an order, soldier!”

Rylen’s eyes landed on Cora’s, his brow furled in concern. Cora ventured a guess as to what troubled the man and gave a nod. “It’s all right,” she assured. By using the ability within the tent she and Rylen were both aware that she would be subject to the effects as well. It was no secret that being temporarily deprived of their magic was a prospect that was unsettling to many mages at best - terrifying to others.

With her consent granted, blue light illuminated the interior of the structure as Rylen set about cleansing the space, and Cora felt the disconcerting sensation of being drained in spite of remaining physically sound. Her eyes turned to Cullen who had been watching her throughout the process. “Better?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered, gazing at her as though still unable to believe she sat before him. Without warning his arms ensnared her, crushing her to him, and Cora thanked the Maker his chest plate had been removed already. “Forgive me,” he whispered pitiably, and without hesitation she returned his embrace, grateful for Knight-Captain’s courtesy as she watched him make a discreet exit from the tent.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she soothed. “You’re alive and so am I. That’s enough for now.” Her fingers reached up to pull her nails gently against his scalp as he liked, repeating the act until the tension eased from his shoulders slightly.

“The Fade rift you fell through,” Cullen murmured after a time, his cheek nestled into her hair, “where did it lead?”

“Where in the Fade?” She asked, unclear as to why he would ask, “it was the lair of a demon of fear. Why do you ask?”

“I was afraid you had gone back,” he said, his voice quavering, “and I had lost you.”

“Back? What do you mean?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” he admitted, stuttering as he tried to rally himself, though his voice maintained its thinned-out quality, “I know so little of how it all worked. Perhaps Dee had created another mod to bring you home.”

Cora shook her head, unable to mask her confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Unless something changed, your computer should still be at Dee’s apartment,” he replied, peering at her as though he were puzzled why she did not grasp what he was saying. “She would have your complete collection of mods to work from. Perhaps she used what you had already created-” 

Cora’s hands lifted before her, halting his words. “Dee? Mods? You’re not making sense.”

Cullen hesitated, peering at her for a moment before speaking. “You- don’t remember?”

“Should I?”

Before her Cullen seemed to visibly wilt, and her hand lifted to grip his arm. “I suppose not,” he whispered quietly. “Forgive me, it must have been a dream.”

“Cullen, you’ve been through a lot,” she said carefully, “you need to rest. If you like, once you’ve recovered we can continue this conversation.” Standing, she helped him lay down upon the cot, pressing a palm to his cheek once he was settled and watched as his eyes closed and he sighed deeply. “There now,” she murmured, “I’ll see about the healer for you. Poor Rylen is already looking harried.” The man beneath her harrumphed softly without opening his eyes.

“He is far more capable that most,” Cullen grumbled.

“Of course he is. That’s why he’s your second.” Unable to resist Cora leaned down to press her lips to Cullen’s and was caught off guard when his hand cupped the back of her head, holding her to him for more than the chaste peck she had intended. In spite of her concern she relished the contact, teasing his scar slightly as she loved to do and earning a soft smile from the lips beneath hers in return.

“Sleep.” She commanded, dousing the candle and lantern as she left while carefully toeing aside his armor to keep from tripping over it in the dark. Once outside she took Rylen by the arm and pulled him away from the tent a few paces, her voice low.

“Send for the healer,” she ordered quietly so as not to be overheard. “I want the Commander seen and treated immediately.”

A startled expression crossed the soldier’s face briefly before he composed himself, echoing her prudence. “Is something wrong, Inquisitor?” 

“Nothing that I am capable of identifying,” she replied, “just see to it that he is tended to by your best healer. I want a report of his evaluation before the day is out.”

“Yes Inquisitor.” With a respectful salute Rylen departed, hailing one of his messengers and issuing the orders that would no doubt see her command carried through.

It was not like Cullen to speak nonsense, she knew. Demonic influence had been ruled out by Rylen, and Cora could not imagine that his Lyrium withdrawals would surface so dramatically after such an extended period without the drug. She hoped the healer would find only his visible injuries, and that she could then believe his ramblings had been nothing more than blood loss coupled with the remnants of a dream as he said.

For now she would have to be patient.

XXXX

Cullen listened as her footsteps faded away along with Rylen’s before sitting at the side of the cot again; his shoulder pulling at the strain of lifting himself from the blankets. She was right to believe he was exhausted, but he knew better than to hope for sleep. His thoughts tumbled about within his mind, floundering over too many revelations to consider. 

Cora had returned from the Fade. The rift had not taken her to Chicago as he had feared. He could not understand how or why it was so. Perhaps, like before, the door had to be opened from the other side. There was so little he understood of the mechanics of her mods and how they worked with the magic of Thedas. She and Dee had also declared their ignorance at how they had managed to open the door; a fact which had angered him more than he had cared to admit during his time in that world.

And now, where he could recall their life together before the Inquisition, Cora was quite clearly still unaware of it. The effect of whatever magic or mod that had brought her here still seemingly maintained its hold on her, hiding her from the truth of her past.

He was certain of one thing, however. If she did not remember he would not tell her. There was enough madness surrounding her at present to occupy her thoughts. He was having a difficult time as it was puzzling the entire affair out, and he did not have the added pressure of acting as Herald of Andraste. 

Let Cora sort out the rifts and Corypheus first. When that was settled, and only then, would he tell her of her life in Chicago. 

And hope to the Maker that she did not think he was mad.

XXXX

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!! I was so excited for this chapter. It's the one I consider to be the REAL divergence into the 'revised' plot. I hope it lived up to my hopes. And as always feedback is life. Comments, critiques, all are welcome! :)


	7. Chapter 7:  Faith

It had taken weeks of recovering from the injuries he suffered at Adamant before Cullen had finally been approved to return to his duties at Skyhold. The healers had performed their services well, and after numerous sessions the only visible traces of his wounds from the siege were the vivid red lines of angry scars that would eventually fade to white. The pain still lingered in his leg but he could endure it, and the healers assured him it too would pass.

In truth he had not expected to return to his duties at all, and had despaired for the first few days of his confinement at the realization that he had failed. Only when Cassandra visited the infirmary and notified the injured man that his post was waiting for him did Cullen’s mind turn from its dark path. He had been torn between relief at the restoration of his purpose and concern that she was making a mistake, but did not argue with her on the matter. 

And so the day came when the mage overseeing his recovery informed Cullen with a smile that he could resume light duties. Within the hour Cullen was shaved, dressed, and accepting surprised salutes as he stiffly crossed the ramparts. His first order of business had been a review of the soldiers. As the men were presented for inspection the faces which no longer dotted the ranks did not escape his perception, nor did those that were new. Neither did it go unnoticed how many were clearly ignorant of what a real battlefield was like.

More than the loss of those he had known, the sight of such innocence clad for battle stung bitterly. In their faces he recalled a time when he had been like them; a recruit too wrapped up in the nobility of the cause to think on the horrors that lie ahead. Few of those who survived the coming battles would keep their blind faith, he knew. Many more would serve honorably, but would also pray for the day when they could return to their farms and families while knowing too many would not. But such were the necessities of war, and Cullen was experienced enough to set aside sentiment for the greater good; at least outwardly.

Unable to train with the men once inspection completed, Cullen returned to his office and the dozens of reports Leliana and Josephine had been kind enough to save in his absence - most of them accounts of events that had already transpired and therefore holding no great urgency.

The stacks upon his desk would have once been unwelcome, but now were vastly preferable to laying in a bed with nothing to occupy his thoughts but memories of another world that would serve no purpose other than distraction at present. At least here he could understand his place and what the next step was to be. There was no comfort in the coming battles, but there was at least familiarity, and that was better than the alternative.

He could have done without the scout the Spymaster had sent to assist him, but allowed the woman to stay on and serve as a messenger. She would have been replaced soon enough if he had dismissed her. Leliana was many things, he knew, but naive was not one of them.

“Commander,” the young woman spoke up, presenting a small bundle of pages from the desk when his consideration of where to begin took more than a few seconds. “Sister Leliana insisted that you review this report first. It is the transcript of Erimond’s interrogation. He is to face the Inquisitor’s judgment soon. Sister Leliana believes there will be discontent regardless of the Inquisitor’s decision. She says you should be prepared for the outcome.” 

With a noncommittal hum Cullen took the proffered documents and began their study in silence, reviewing interrogator questions and prisoner answers carefully. To his disgust he found the majority of the magister’s responses to be insults, threats, or a combination of the two. Leliana was right, there would be no appeasing the masses when this one was sentenced. His eyes continued to follow the text, row upon row of neat print giving first-hand account of what passed in the interview.

_ Paper as white as snow, the text upon it small and uniform. The words on the sheet were meant for Cora to read aloud, yet there were others that many times belonged to him; printed to give context to her recitals. _

_ Cora had been struggling with their reading. Dee had been mocking her as they reviewed until Cora had grown too agitated to carry on. Cullen had stepped in then, taking Dee’s place in order to assist Cora as she rehearsed her lines. It had been stilted at first - until it wasn’t - and Cora was able to talk with him as she used to, or near to it at any rate. Her speech now matched her Chicago dialect rather than that of Ostwick, but the general mannerisms were the same. They spoke casually, then intimately, before finally culminating in Cora’s declaration of love for him. _

_ ‘Maker, I have always loved the way your eyes light when you say those words,’ he had admitted, catching her off guard to his amusement. She had worried about being different from the Cora he had first loved and he assured her that she was the woman he had fallen in love with. And while he meant it, he had also feared what returning to Thedas would mean. Would he be able to love her projection as he had, knowing it carried Cora’s will and emotions but was not the woman herself? _

_ For it had been love, even then. Though he had buried it, hidden it from all including himself, he had loved her from those first days with her in that strange world. _

His awareness returned with a start, and he glared through the transcript; fear and anger boiling within him.

_ Maker, would it never end?! _

Even now that he knew the events of Chicago had been real the memories of that time still attacked like waking nightmares haunting him day and night. Try as he might he could not master them.

The anger and dread rolled through him. Lyrium would have given him the ability to focus himself, to block out the unwanted and regain control of his senses. Without it he was slipping, losing himself to madness. If this continued there would come a time when he would no longer know which world he resided in. He would be lost to the thoughts plaguing him. Which memory would be the one that claimed him forever? When would the time come when he would be reduced to nothing but an invalid, trapped within his own mind?

Without a word to the scout at his side, Cullen slammed the paper to the desk and marched from the room, his leg throbbing at the exertion he placed upon it. The Seeker had made the training dummies her preferred resting place, either battering them with a weapon or seated beneath them with a book. Neither situation mattered to him at present; only that she was there.

Dark-lined eyes turned to him when he entered the shaded clearing; the sword in her hands returning to its sheath as she watched him approach.

“Cullen,” she called, striding to meet him, “what is it?”

“We need to talk,” his voice was a growl, but he did not try to check his temper. He needed it now more than ever.

Her gaze upon him was steady and calm. “This way,” she replied and led him into the armory through a small side door. Once inside and assured they were alone she turned on him, arms folded over her breastplate. “I assume this is about Adamant.”

“You declared me unfit to lead,” Cullen practically spat, “then welcomed me back. Why did you not have me replaced?”

“You were injured,” she responded bluntly, “and too stubborn to admit that you were in no condition to fight. I know why you did it, and in your position I can’t say that I would have behaved differently. I would hope that, had our situations been reversed, you would have done the same for me.”

“That is not what we agreed,” he countered. “You declared me unfit to command. For that you should be naming my successor, not trying to convince me you changed your mind.”

Cassandra shifted her feet in irritation. “I never said that I changed my mind. You were injured and now you are not. You can stand, you can walk, you can give orders. There is no reason why you should not be in command.”

“That is not true. You and I both know it.” He shook his head, pressing his fingers to his eyes. He knew she had witnessed him slip into his mind once or twice. Why could she not just say it!

“You’ve asked for my opinion and I’ve given it.” Cassandra stated flatly, her annoyance dissipating slightly. “Why would you expect it to change?”

“I expect you to keep your word.” He accused. “It’s relentless. I can’t-”

“You give yourself too little credit!” Cassandra seemed almost passionate in her statement as she flung it at him. It should have lifted his spirits to have someone voice such faith in him, but it only succeeded in compounding his feeling of failure. Friendship or the Seeker’s inability to admit her error should not be a reason to risk dooming them all with his unstable mind.

“If I’m unable to fulfil what vows I kept then nothing good has come of this. Would you rather save face than admit-” 

The door swung open, spilling daylight across the floor and halting his words as the Inquisitor entered, her eyes flicking between Cassandra and himself first curiously and then warily. The concern which overtook her expression became too much to bear and Cullen turned from her in shame as he slipped past her, a whispered plea for forgiveness the only thing he could manage before leaving, ignoring Cassandra’s complaint at his stubborn tendencies. 

He could feel Cora’s eyes at his back as he walked, even after the door had closed behind him. Dejected, he climbed the stairs to the ramparts once more, his thigh burning with the pain of injuries not fully healed. Once safely inside his office, Cullen banished the scout who had remained with a wordless gesture; not bothering to shut the door at her back.

Alone with his thoughts he returned to his desk, releasing the lock of a drawer and pulling from it a worn wooden box. With shaking fingers he placed it atop his desk and lifted the lid. Inside lay the implements issued to him as a Templar, used in creating the lyrium draughts he had been dependent upon for so many years.

It would be so easy to make things right. He could devote himself to the Inquisition fully. He could banish the memories and control his mind without hindrance. Inside this accursed box he had everything that he needed to give himself completely to the cause. Their cause.  _ Cora’s cause. _

Everything but his soul.

Cullen’s breath came in ragged gasps, tearing from him like the sobs he barely kept at bay. Why must it always come to this? Why must he always have to choose between what was right and what was necessary? Why could he not -  _ for once _ \- be allowed to make a choice that would serve the greater good without requiring that he sacrifice his conscience in the process?!

He could do it again. He had done it before. His fingers would remember how to make the draughts even if his mind forgot. He could take one now, and this pain would ease. He could cope with his failure…

Tears stung his eyes as he sneered down at the tools in their red velvet bed. With a scream of anger Cullen snatched the box from his desk, spinning on his feet and hurling it with all of his fury against the wall; the kit ricocheting and smashing into the open door as Cora leapt back to avoid being struck.

His heart thundered in his chest as he realized what he had done. “Maker’s breath! I didn’t hear you enter. I-” He straightened, his leg screaming in agony as he tried to put his weight on it. The expression in her eyes went beyond concern, and his heart constricted at the worry he knew he must be placing on her. “Forgive me,” he murmured, unable to meet her gaze any longer. The shame of his actions and of what he had been considering before her entrance was too great.

Stepping over the mess he had created in his wrath Cora approached him. “Cullen, you’re not alone. Please talk-”

He shook his head, not wanting her to further add to his humiliation with compassion he did not deserve, and rounded his desk. “You don’t have to-” the abused muscles in his injured thigh seized, sending shards up pain through the length of his leg and up his spine. Against his will a groan escaped his lips as he caught himself on his desk, barely keeping himself from the floor. Her eyes wide, Cora took two steps towards him - arms outstretched - but with a wave of his hand Cullen fended her off.

“I never meant for this to interfere,” he said weakly, and she stopped beside his desk, her hand still extended partially as though tempted to reach for him still.

“Are you going to be all right?”

“Yes,” his response came reflexively until the disbelief in her eyes forced the truth from him. “...I don’t know,” he sighed, allowing the facade of brave soldier to slip. For the first time since they had begun their personal conversations Cullen railed against the atrocities he had faced in his past; horrors that would have singularly been more than a man should be able to withstand, compounded by one another into a string of events that even he could not believe he had endured. And all because of a system he had dedicated himself to as a youth. At the other side of the desk Cora’s face shifted from horror to rage, but he did not allow himself to stop.

Were it not for the Templars he would not be doubting his judgment. He would never have shackled himself with the contents of the wooden box now shattered on his floor. He’d have never known what it was to have his mind assaulted again and again; would not have had cause to fear it was happening once more. The memories he was experiencing would never have had the hold over him that they did now. He was debilitated; dependent on a drug to hold to his sanity, and far from capable. 

And what was worse? It was the knowledge that people had died under his charge in the past, and if he was not brought in check it could happen again. Andraste preserve him, it  _ would _ \- it had already! There were bodies being carted from Adamant that would serve as testament to that - among them the dagger wielding soldier who had died to save his life. He had yet to discover the poor man’s name; could not even bestow upon the man’s family his regrets, his gratitude, or even something to ease the strain of their loved one’s loss.

The one person who should be most concerned with his capabilities was standing before him,  _ consoling _ him, as though he deserved her compassion. Her support. She -  _ a mage _ ! A few years ago he would have looked on her in contempt for no other reason than how she was born. He would have detested her, locked her away, perhaps even wished her dead given enough of a reason - which had been very little for a time. He could not tolerate her sympathy. He did not deserve it.

“Don’t!” He pleaded, backing away from the woman before him, her eyes widening with emotions he did not want to recognize. “You should be questioning what I’ve done.” Unable to stand her gaze he moved across the room like a caged animal towards her, hoping he would drive her back. Despite his effort, she remained rooted in place, her hands planted on her hips defiantly. If she only knew. If she only knew how close he was to the brink. Of what his failures had already cost.

“I thought this would be better,” he panted, “that I would regain some control over my life. But these - thoughts - won’t leave me…” He couldn’t. Even now he couldn’t tell her. Even when faced with the burden of responsibility on him - on  _ them _ \- he could not tell her the truth. He had sworn himself to the Inquisition and its cause. He had given himself to it entirely. He could not fail it! He could not!

“I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry,” he railed desperately, hoping she would agree; condemn him for his selfish desire to be free of his chains. Wishing she would see him for the madman he was becoming before he brought ruin to them all. “I should be taking it!” He cried out in impotent self-loathing, driving his fist into the solid wood of the bookshelf before him as despair overtook his rage. His self-serving hope would win if he was not called into check. He would doom them all with his personal wish to be free of his past. 

“I should be taking it.” It was a whisper, a plea for her to command him. If she would only command him…

The voice at his back, soft and strong, was not what he had anticipated. “Stop thinking about the Inquisition for one damned minute.” Cora said sharply. “Do you  _ want _ this? The lyrium?” He turned to face her, found the grimace creasing her features in frustration, and felt the last of his fire bleed from him.

“No,” he breathed. “But… these memories haunt me…” He spoke in half-truths, knowing that when he spoke of memories she thought of demons and torture. And where he was plagued by those nightmares nightly, he also thought of that previously unimaginable world she had been born into. A world that threatened to swallow him with the knowledge of its existence, and as frequently as his own troubled past. “If they become worse, if I-if I cannot endure this…” He could smell the sharp, unfamiliar odors of the streets they had walked; scents similar to lamp oil and white alcohol. He wanted to gag on the sudden rush until a slight pressure pushed against him, pulling him from the memory threatening to surface.

Her hand had lifted to his heart, and though he could not feel it through the metal he knew that she was exerting enough effort to be noticed for how he had to rebalance on his feet slightly. With clear intent she held his stare with her own; her will so powerful that he could not have looked away even if he had wished to.

“But you  _ can _ ,” she said quietly. His gaze flitted over her eyes, and in those beautiful depths he saw no trace of doubt. She believed her words.

Where he expected misery at the knowledge that he would continue to risk everything for his own well being, he found himself daring to hope that all might not be lost. The way that she looked at him… he could almost share her confidence in him and in the belief his life held meaning outside of their cause. That it held value and should be protected as fiercely as any other’s. 

One fact reigned dominant; he knew that it would be pointless to argue against her on this. The woman before him was not speaking to him as a lover or a friend. She was speaking to him with all of the authority and power her position demanded, and he would abide by the Inquisitor’s decree that he was strong enough to see this through. It was only when he murmured his acceptance that Cora allowed her hand to drop from his chest plate, holding his stare for just a moment longer before turning to depart.

As she crossed the room, he noted that she did not step over the wreckage as she had before. Instead she pointedly planted her foot on the cylindrical dispenser, crushing it beneath her boot with clear intent - for her stride halted until she had damaged the implement beyond repair. Scattering the spoon and other smaller pieces across the floor with her remaining strides, some violently flying through the open door, Cora let her feelings regarding lyrium addiction be known without words. The act somehow soothed him more than any spoken assurance.

He understood in that moment that she would support him in every step of his journey. Not because she loved him, and not because she needed him to command his armies. Cora - be she Trevelyan or Dempkowski - openly detested the act of binding someone against their will; be it through imprisonment, slavery, or addiction. 

Though it was small, the spark of hope within him caught and held as he realized he would be her cause now. She would see him freed of his dependency on the drug, and without allowing him to fail the Inquisition in the process. And because she would fight, so would he. He would stand by her in every struggle she faced.

He  _ would _ be worthy.

  
  


XXXX

  
  


“Commander,” Rylen’s broad figure came to block the door, “everything is prepared for your departure.

With a nod Cullen completed the words he scrawled upon his missive and set his seal upon it. Rylen had done an admirable job at maintaining the army while the Commander had been infirmed, but it had still taken Cullen several weeks to catch up after his enforced medical leave of absence. And though there was still much to do Cullen had decided it was time to begin repaying his beloved for her unswerving support in his darkest hour. Regardless of in what capacity she had chosen to aid him, he would repay her in every role he held in her life. “Excellent. And Inquisitor?”

“She’s heading this way now, Ser. I don’t think she suspects.” The smile above the man’s tattooed chin was conspiratorial and Cullen allowed the other’s excitement to feed his own. While he had always believed in maintaining professional relationships with his subordinates, Cullen found himself warming to Rylen. Undoubtedly it was due to Cora’s influence, who held to a persistent need to befriend nearly all of their companions. Yet it was by no means the worst trait a person in her position could possess. And so, provided Cullen could still command the respect and loyalty called for in battle, a bit of pleasant comradery with his second seemed harmless enough.

Beside his hand the familiar worn face of his coin gleamed dully in the low light of his office. He smiled at the token, remembering the moment he had first come to possess it. 

He hadn’t truly believed in luck. It was a pleasant concept to toy with, but with everything that had happened to him over the years, Cullen found it difficult to think the bauble had been of any real use.

Then again, he was alive. He had been broken down and made new time after time until he no longer knew the boy the coin had been given to. But he had come through it all alive. And it had all led him here, to the Inquisition - a cause he could finally give himself to without regret.

“There you are,” the voice from his doorway was sweet and playful, and Cullen turned as Cora sauntered into the room, an affectionate smile on her lips that generally preceded a request for a moment of his time.

Perhaps… he had been wrong about the coin being ineffective. Perhaps it had only required time…

With a smile of his own Cullen discreetly slipped the silver disk into its designated pocket before responding. It was high time they took some personal leave. And he knew just the place for their escape.

  
  


XXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the big delay in posting. When your internet goes down repeatedly during quarantine, and you're working from home, it becomes first priority to do your work with the internet you have and then use the rest of the connection to try to get the company to fix the problem. So to make it up to you all, have a mass-posting!


	8. Chapter 8:  Urges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: NSFW chapter.

The night air was milder than usual as Cora descended from the castle proper into the lower courtyard. She enjoyed wandering the grounds on nights when she couldn’t sleep, and recent events had made rest even more elusive to her than before. Skyhold was peaceful when all but the castle guard had retired, almost beautiful. The wind howling outside of the high walls was reduced to nearly nothing within the grounds, and gave the interior a feeling of shelter and safety; something the survivors of Haven had desperately needed.

Upon entering the main courtyard Cora found that she was not the only person awake at this late hour. High above on the ramparts the door to Cullen’s office was open; the entry glowing brightly against the dark sky except when shadows moved within. Curiosity overcame her and she crossed the training grounds to the stairs, an unconscious smile forming at the sound of her heart’s voice from within as she drew near. 

She found Cullen briefing his Lieutenants, who by now were accustomed to their Commander’s odd sleep schedules and had adapted accordingly. Not wanting to be the source of disruption Cora slipped in unnoticed to press against the back wall where none would see; the soldiers’ attention completely focused on the officer behind the desk. She listened as he strategized and issued orders with no less vigor than he would during daylight hours, his men responding with enthusiasm despite the time of night.

When his gaze at last found hers Cora was obligated to lift a hand to her mouth, not wanting him to mistake her affection for teasing. His words hesitated only for a moment upon catching sight of her, but he resumed his address with his prior confidence before dismissing the men from his office. If any noticed the Inquisitor’s presence as they departed none were impertinent enough to make it known.

Once the last of the Inquisition’s forces had departed Cullen shut the door behind them, his full weight bearing down upon the heavy wood panels as though he was attempting to barricade it from invasion. “There’s always something more, isn’t there?” He murmured, and Cora was at last able to recognize the near ever-present exhaustion in him, empathizing with his struggle.

“Want to run away again?” She teased, but only partially. She had to admit she was sorely tempted to return to that lake. It was the first truly peaceful moment she had been given in… she couldn’t recall how long. 

His responding laugh had an air of resignation to it and before he had spoken his denial Cora knew they would not be returning to their sanctuary so quickly. Her disappointment was short-lived however when he unexpectedly changed the course of the conversation.

“This war won’t last forever,” he began. “When it started I hadn’t considered much beyond our survival. But things are different now.”

Cora pushed herself from the wall and followed him as he crossed the room; her interest piqued. “Different? How?”

“I find myself wondering what will happen after,” he admitted as he turned to face her, his expression as gentle as the fingers which lifted to hold her cheek. “When this is over I won’t want to move on…” he admitted softly, “not from you.” His smile was genuine and adoring as he peered down at her and she felt light until a shadow passed over his eyes. His gaze danced away and his voice began its stutter before the words came. “But I don’t know what you-“ he stammered almost desperately, turning from her so he could lean over the desk; clearly trying to hide his doubt from her view, “that is if you- ah-“

The amused smile which threatened to overtake her was masterfully held back. He was speaking earnestly from the heart, and she would not disrespect his sincerity. But Maker, this man could truly be adorable when he was nervous! “Cullen,” she called gently, sliding herself carefully between the man and his desk to prevent him from using it as a barrier to hide behind, “do I need to be clearer?” She leaned against the heavy structure, hands splayed across the surface; not demanding, but inviting nonetheless.

“I suppose not,” he nearly whispered, taking the half step required to close the distance between them. Cora’s fingers slid further along the polished wood before she stopped them; the most extraordinary feeling coming over her as she found her attention drawn to her hand. An empty wine bottle stood just beyond the tips of her nails and Cora reached for it curiously. It bore no label or wax seal, and yet there was something about this bottle, wasn’t there? Something significant? 

Acting purely on irrational impulse too powerful to disregard, Cora caught Cullen’s gaze. Slowly, without breaking her hold on his attention, she extended her arm over the edge of the desk and released her grip on the vessel. Glass shattered across stone, the sound setting a thrill through her veins she could not describe; her breath catching involuntarily in her throat.

The honey colored eyes before her grew wide and then distant as he no longer watched her but seemed to peer through her instead. It was one of his spells, she realized, and her brow furrowed. “Cullen?” She called quietly, lifting her hand to his cheek.

His awareness returned to him as he pulled a sharp, deep breath into his lungs; his eyes pooling with desire as she had never seen in him before. It was intoxicating, though the spectacle did not last. With a wide sweep of his arm Cullen cleared the rest of his belongings from the desk and onto the floor before bodily lifting her by her rump, sliding her over the polished wood surface until her legs were stretched out before her.

With an expression that was somehow affectionate and predatorial all at once he mounted the desk, sliding one muscular thigh between her legs as he brought himself down on top of her with a slow thrust of his hips; his mouth seeking hers eagerly.

Reason slipped away from her when Cullen rolled his body against hers again. She was well versed in his kiss and embrace, but this was an entirely different sensation. The rigid heat of his masculinity pressed into her thigh as he had never before been bold enough to attempt. Heat pooled between her legs and spread up through her belly at the feel of his intimacy against her body, flooding every inch of her. Her lower lip was captured and pulled into his mouth in a kiss was now more than simply affectionate. It was demanding, and pleading, and _hungry_. And by the Maker, she wanted more of it! 

Firm fingers cupped her breast as Cullen took her mouth again and again, his exhalations shuddering and almost vocal against her lips with every breath, and need erupted within her with all of the power of a fade rift tearing open. She clung to him desperately, her hips shifted as she sought to slide her leg along his length, and was thwarted not only by his weight but by the chest plate separating them. The armor had always been a bit of a bother when kissing, but now it was directly walling her away from the form she was so eager to explore. Gratifyingly his hips bucked into her again and she felt her core contract at the sensation of his need pushing along the tender flesh of her thigh. Her hand slipped up the smooth metal of his chest plate to his neck where her fingers cupped and pulled, holding his mouth to hers.

“I think this is the part,” she murmured in between scalding kisses, “where we take this to a bed.” Her eyes opened and, just as she somehow knew it would be, she was met with a gaze that was more black than golden; his pupils so large they practically swallowed the colored rings surrounding them. His brow furrowed, though for once not in anger as Cullen clearly struggled to grasp the meaning of her words.

“I believe you’re right,” he murmured after a moment and lifted himself from her; his hands reaching down to catch her waist as he pulled her from the desk. The closest bed was Cullen’s, but reaching it would require them to part long enough to climb the ladder. A sacrifice, to be certain. 

With a gentlemanly grace at odds with his passionate clamouring of just seconds before Cullen gestured for her to ascend first, which she did as quickly as she could. In spite of the cloak and armor which covered him Cullen followed suit with remarkable speed, and was standing before her when she reached the second floor and turned to check his progress.

Pinching gloved finger tips between gleaming white teeth, Cullen stripped his hands bare; Cora taking the opportunity to release the pins which held her hair to the nape of her neck. With a small shake she sent the locks flowing around her shoulders. The act seemed to reawaken the hunger she had glimpsed downstairs, for her lover caught up the sides of her face in response, lips enveloping hers in another smothering kiss. Her voice broke in a whimper as she melted into him, feeling the curl in his shoulders as his body contorted to envelope her. But there was still the wall between them to contend with and Cora’s hands began their exploration, seeking out buckles and straps in order to eliminate the barrier.

Fabric dropped with barely a sound while piece by piece the metal components of his armor clattered and clanged dissonantly within the otherwise hushed chamber as she worked diligently to disrobe him. The effort only consumed a part of her focus as Cullen’s lips divided her attention and distracted her in the most delicious way. Cora noted with pleasure that his impassioned kisses were given through soft sighs and muted moans; a direct contrast to those she had received atop Skyhold’s walkways. The sound of his voice had always been attractive to her but in this setting it was positively erotic. 

When not occupied with the unbridled exploration of every curve of her body Cullen occasionally spared his fingers to help with a particularly stubborn clasp or tangled cuff. A tug at the hem of his shirt informed the man that he needed to allow her to break their kiss so she could pull the fabric from his chest, which he permitted for only a second before returning to her mouth. For a moment she contented herself to wallow in the taste of his mouth and the fullness of his tongue as it caressed hers while granting her hands leave to slide over the perfectly sculpted physique which loomed over her as though. He could not be close enough. Like the arousal which had dug into her thigh his body was solid, sculpted muscle which yielded no softness but for the satin heat of his skin. His hands and arms were careful not to grip her too tightly and it was clear to her that he was holding back.

He was perfect. Exactly as she had dreamed he would be. And tonight he would be hers. The thought would have made her giddy were she not practically lost to her own need.

When her fingers slipped lower and grazed at the top of his trousers his lips stilled against hers. “I won’t bother with these,” she muttered, giving the front of the garment a tug where the flap was held shut by a firm knot. His eyes glazed over again, but only for an instant as his posture straightened slightly.

“You hate laces,” it was a whisper; ragged and husky, and uttered with what seemed to be a nostalgic quality though Cora was too eager for what was to come to bother with wondering how he knew that. She smiled, and stretched to press her lips to his scar, flicking her tongue against the ragged line as she loved to do. 

“Buttons,” she murmured, guiding a large hand to the front of her tunic to trail his fingertips against the row of metallic discs which held the coat closed down the center, fully aware that their path also followed the swell of her breasts, “are easier.”

Seemingly disregarding her invitation to undress her, Cullen’s arms instead circled her tenderly; his nose buried behind her ear. “Oh God,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke, “if this is a dream please don’t let me wake up.”

 _God?_ Ordinarily she would have chuckled at the odd choice of wording he used to appeal to the Maker. But in this context it felt appropriate in some way. The tone of his voice had given an impression more of a recital than prayer and a sudden inspiration to respond came over her; her lips parting as she spoke as though by wrote. “If this is a dream,” she said slowly, allowing the words to come forth on their own, “then we are in the Fade together.”

Cullen’s breath caught audibly beside her ear and Cora wondered if her impulses were more damaging than innocent. Each time she followed one of them Cullen reacted strongly, and while so far the responses had been positive she worried that it might not always be so. 

His face pulled back, his gaze scrutinizing her before softening; an expression she could not discern flittering over his features too quickly to be identified. Relief, perhaps? Or acceptance? The smile which took its place, however, was genuine and he pressed a kiss to her lips reverently. Realizing the moment had been preserved, Cora stepped back from him as her fingers began to release the buttons of her tunic one by one before she allowed the soft fabric to crumple to her feet, followed by her breastband. Solid heat pressed to her before her garments had settled upon the floor as Cullen held her tightly, curling in over her protectively, possessively, his calloused hands stroking the naked skin of her back as he kissed her. 

Wishing to know what she had been given a taste of downstairs, Cora reached for one corded arm, pulling it from her body so she could fumble her fingers into his. Shifting her place within his embrace slightly she pressed the calloused palm to the hardened peak of her breast and was gratified to feel his fingers close over the pillowy flesh instantly. The groan which tore from his throat was strangled, near pained, and she removed her grip to give him the freedom to explore her body as he would.

But to her surprise arms the enveloping her were suddenly beneath her; Cora’s feet plucked from the floor as her lover lifted her to him. With just a few strides of his long legs they reached the bed where he smoothly deposited her onto the coverlet before turning his attention to the calf-high boots which held her locked within her trousers. Strong fingers began to work the laces and more swiftly than she would have been able to Cullen slipped leather and cloth from her legs; Cora ensuring he took her smalls with them. Laying naked before someone for the first time could easily unnerve anyone, but the adoration in Cullen’s eyes erased any feeling of inadequacy or awkwardness she may have otherwise experienced. She was beautiful. Desired. Loved. 

And more than anything, at that moment she wanted that man to know he was no less precious to her.

“If you’ve finished, Commander,” she said in a voice that nearly croaked for how unnaturally husky it had grown, “I have another matter that requires your direct attention.” 

“Inquisitor,” the man above her purred as he lowered himself to her body, crawling up to her face on hands and knees, “I am at your service.” Cullen’s tongue lapped heavily against the seam of her lips, demanding access she was only too happy to provide.

Her hands snaked up his sides; fingers walking in towards his spine before she gently pulled her nails down his back. Above her Cullen arched into her touch, his breath quavering his appreciation as he hissed into the air above them. The act of stretching himself in his pleasure granted Cora the access she required to place suckling kisses to the base of his throat; his pulse thrumming heavily against where she held her lips. She was not imprudent enough to leave lasting marks in such a visible spot, and contented herself with small red splotches that set him moaning through parted lips before fading out completely.

While Cora busied herself with drawing low keens from the throat before her, Cullen’s hand drifted down between their bodies, pushing her thighs aside carefully so that he could slip between her legs and settle himself against her growing heat. His finger moved along to her bud, small circular movements stimulating her and Cora threw back her head with a whimper. The way this man knew how to take her was positively uncanny. His mouth devoured hers again while his finger slipped inside of her, curling and dragging against slick walls before returning to her torment sensitive peak. She could feel her own arousal slickening his digit when it emerged to return to her pearl. Her body ached to claim him, to be full of him. Overwhelming desire weakened her resolve and she could not longer find the will to taunt him as she had.

“Cullen,” she mewled, and he shushed her affectionately.

“First this,” he whispered, plunging one, then two fingers into her and dragging thickly padded fingertips along her folds when they emerged. The act repeated again and again, with each return to her depths growing quicker and more ardent, until her insides were coiling, building. Her legs clamped to him tightly as she surged into his palm, trying desperately to reach the height that was so close as he pumped his fingers into her relentlessly.

“Please-” She wanted more, she wanted him, but that want did not lessen the pleasure he brought forth from her depths. Her climax crested over her as though her plea had been answered; crashing through her limbs like waves on the Storm Coast until they washed away, leaving her pleasantly fuzzy. His touch left her tunnel and returned to her press her peak gently.

“Beautiful,” he breathed and lowered his head to kiss the corner of her mouth and she whimpered in half-hearted frustration. It had been wonderful, but it had not been what she wanted, and her fingers delved between their legs, combating against his arm, until she found the object of her desire laying heavy and hot against her thigh. 

Against her cheek Cullen’s breath bled from his throat with a shuddering sigh as she took his length in hand, feeling its softness and rigidity at her palm. She wanted so much to explore him, but was unwilling to grant him the upper-hand again. Pushing and pulling at him until he was lying prone beside her, Cora lifted herself to straddle his hips; her body bent over his as she dragged her mouth over his jaw, throat, collarbones, and chest. Beneath her she could feel him against her core, and without breaking her affectionate journey over his stunning form she reached for him between her legs, dragging him up to meet her need.

Her hips descended slowly, the sensation of him breaching her causing her flesh to contract and pulse as she resisted the urge to impale herself on him immediately. She was determined to relish this for as long as her impatience would tolerate; to draw out at length the groan from him that seemed to rumble up from the depths of his lungs. She wanted to watch as his head tilted back, exposing the strong cords of his neck, and to feel his hands knead at her hips as he held her without driving her. She was in command - his actions acknowledged this if his words could not.

It was one thing to direct this man in battle; to issue orders to him as she would a trusted soldier. It was another matter entirely to see him surrender to her will in such a vulnerable, intimate setting. Her heart twisted as his breath emptied from his lungs when she seated herself fully onto him. For a moment she held perfectly still, feeling as the fullness of him sent thrumming vibrations down her legs and into her belly. Deliciously she tightened her core around him and watched his shoulders flex and his arms bulge in response.

When her name broke from his lips, ragged and pleading, Cora relented. Her thighs strained as she rose so that she could drive him into her; his hands now gripping, guiding, establishing a rhythm that had them both panting heavily. One hand slid up her ribs to find a bouncing breast and he gathered it into his palm, a thumb brushing against the pebbled peak and flicking at it with his calloused tip.

She was in blissful torment. She could feel her ecstasy waiting just beyond her reach; the pace in which she claimed Cullen just barely insufficient to undo her. Yet, when she tried to hurry herself along Cullen’s grip on her hips would restrain her. She could not understand why for he seemed as ready to fly apart as she was; his breath shredded as it poured forth from his clenching jaw.

Desperately one hand lifted to tangle into the hair at the back of her neck, cupping at her head to drag her down so that he could batter her lips with his. With a whine her hips snapped, and his tenuous hold on their progress was lost as she sped them along. His free hand moved to cradle her lower back as he surrendered to her demands, his tongue thick and hot as it plunged into her mouth.

Like the first rumble of thunder in a coming storm her climax began quietly before it built to an all encompassing roar within her veins; consuming her so forcefully it blinded her to all sensation beyond the man between her thighs. She felt the lips against hers part and the vibration of Cullen’s voice lend itself to her own trembling. On it went until she quieted enough to feel the final throes of her lover as he surged and followed her.

When Cullen’s form ceased to quiver beneath her, she lay atop him listening to his heaving gasps calm gradually, pausing only long enough so that he could press his lips to her temple and cheek until she turned to return the single languid kiss. Her body lifted and fell with every inhalation he took, but his arms continued to hold her gently in place. While she was free to leave she knew his preference and so she remained atop him, content to nuzzle his rough jaw with her nose while his fingers drew lazy patterns at her shoulder. It was peaceful, even more than their time at the lake. She could feel his heartbeat against her breast and hear the soft rasping of his breath against her cheek.

The hole in the boards above her should have driven her to ask for the counterpane beneath them, but the heat radiating from Cullen was enough to fend off the chill. Instead, she watched idly as golden eyes completed a series of slow blinks before drifting closed, putting an end to his study of her face and the paths drawn against her skin. When they did not reopen she lifted her head just enough to press a tender kiss to the lid closest to her mouth before shifting slightly to claim a muscled shoulder as her pillow where she, too, finally surrendered to sleep.

XXXX

When she had roused in the early hours of the morning Cullen had been sleeping so contentedly that Cora had decided against waking him, and dressed in silence. It was only when she sat on the bed, lacing her boots that he began his tossing and muttering, a scowl marring his features until he finally woke with a start.

“Bad dream?” Cora asked carefully, turning on the mattress so she faced him.

“They always are,” he sighed. “Without the lyrium they’re worse.” Propping himself onto one elbow he quickly added. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

A smirk twisted her mouth. “Well I hope you don’t care if I do it anyway.” With a small smile he reached up to her cheek and guided her down so their brows touched.

“You are,” he sighed, and her heart swelled at the wonder he could express without a single word. “I have never felt anything like this.” he finished simply. She understood exactly what he meant. It was so new to her, yet so easily identified.

“I love you,” she breathed into the air they now shared. “You know that, right?”

His smile spread warmly. “I love you too,” he replied softly and strained lightly against the mattress to set his lips to hers. Her hand absently stroked his shoulder, his chest, his side, until an unfamiliar texture caught her attention. When their kiss ended she lowered her eyes to where her touch had stopped. 

“I don’t remember seeing this one last night,” she murmured, her fingers sliding gently along a short, fading pink slash over his ribs. It struck her as strange; appearing significantly wider than one delivered by a blade, but not as deep as one that would have been received from a demon claw. This scar was still healing, but was clearly older than the ones along his thigh. She tried to pinpoint from its condition when he would have received it. Haven? Maybe even when the rift had first opened.

Cullen’s eyes contentedly trailed down to where she caressed him; a small furrow crumpling his brow before melting away beneath a look of surprise. His own hand lifted to touch the scar, a shuddering breath escaping his lungs as he traced it.

Cora felt her own nerves begin to unravel at his reaction; the warmth of their shared affection fading but not vanished. “Cullen, tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s just,” he stuttered, “a bad memory. Nothing more.”

“It is the Lyrium withdrawals?” She pressed, and then when he did not respond immediately she went on. “Is there anything I can do?”

He grew thoughtful before apparently dispelling his thoughts and smiling up at her tenderly.

“Having you with me is enough,” he said quietly, “it’s only a memory, after all.” For his benefit she brightened. It seemed to her that while the spells he had been prone to for months were still coming he was attempting to handle them better so they did not trouble him as they had. She hoped that this was a sign of improvement and decided to encourage it for the time being.

“How convenient for both of us that we’re together, then.” She mused, and with a final peck to his lips and a nuzzle of noses she rose from the bed, giving him a wry smile and a playful smack against the sole of his bare foot before descending the ladder.

It was best to be gone from his rooms before the gossips started their day.

XXXX

Cullen lay atop the mattress where Cora had left him, gazing at the opening which led down to his office. It was only when he heard the heavy door click shut that he sat and turned his attention to the vivid mark along his ribs.

It was short and as thick as one of Cora’s fingers; the bone beneath the only thing which had kept the weapon from truly harming him.

_A gun. No… a bullet._

How the mark had appeared again was as confusing to him as why it had. Perhaps it was the correlation to when they had made love in Chicago. Perhaps the two events were in no way related and this was just coincidence. Whatever the reason, he took some solace in the knowledge that if he held the memories and scar from his time in Chicago, it meant the journey had already taken place, and that he would not be pulled away again. He was still finding it difficult to make sense of what was happening, and found comfort in the small pieces of reason he could glean out.

What was equally astonishing as the physical evidence of his journey to a different world was Cora’s words and actions from the night prior. How could she remember the bottle, or the words they had spoken to one another in Chicago, but not recall the actual events?

There was so much that he did not understand. He had been tempted a number of times to speak to Solas on the matter, yet in that other world Cora had seemed to bear a strong mistrust for the man; the remnants of which she apparently held to here in Thedas in spite of having no memory of her past feelings. If someone as loyal to her comrades as Cora had previously had reason to mistrust the mage he would try to keep that wariness in mind. Perhaps someday she would remember, as he did, and explain everything to him.

For now he could only wait. And it was as he had said: having her here with him was enough. 

XXXX


	9. Chapter 9:  Nonsense

It had been a chaotic few weeks of late, and Cora was nearing the end of her rope. Samson’s knack for staying two steps ahead of her at every turn infuriated the mage until she was just as eager to see him brought before her throne for judgment as Cullen. She had considered allowing Dagna to test a few of her more grisly theories on him prior to casting her sentence on the traitor, such as how red lyrium different from the blue in terms of healing properties to the user. The dwarf would likely need to have some fresh injuries for her study, and there were more than a few soldiers within the Inquisition’s ranks who would readily volunteer to assist in these scholarly pursuits. While she dismissed the idea almost immediately as being too barbaric for the Inquisition to tolerate, Cora allowed herself the luxury of thinking on the scheme in moments of extreme irritation.

Her aggravation eventually took on a volatile edge, and as she had scoured the landscape for the cast-off templar she destroyed every vein of red lyrium her party came across. The less red lyrium that existed the fewer resources Samson and his army had at their disposal. If she couldn’t bring him to immediate justice she could at the very least make an effort to hobble him.

The one pleasant aspect to the situation was Cullen’s desire to accompany her as she hunted their adversary. It had started with a hard pressed yet ultimately unsuccessful raid on Samson’s camp at the Shrine of Dumat. And since that day Cullen had dedicated himself almost entirely to the Inquisitor’s personal entourage, much to the surprise of many. None knew Samson better than he, and even Leliana’s spies were finding themselves foiled in their attempts to discover the traitor. While the Nightingale's people followed trails which grew cold rapidly, Cullen took on the dark task of delving into his former roommate’s way of thought. Each abandoned base and forfeited cache would drive Samson further into desperation, and Cullen more than any was able to determine how far Samson would go with each loss he sustained. Duty called him to the field, the Commander informed his fellow advisors with an air of authority none argued. This was no task for messenger birds or second hand accounts given by those not authorized to act independently. Cullen had to be there - to take action where others might find uncertainty. And so Rylen was assigned to Cullen’s office to provide immediate guidance while his superior ventured out at every opportunity.

On these excursions Cullen acted as the party’s bulwark, though the use of his templar taught abilities was strictly but quietly limited by the Inquisitor. Reports of the events at Adamant had lead her to believe that his post-battle condition may have been brought about by the use of abilities which previously utilized lyrium to effectively complete. The success he had so far achieved in leaving his addiction behind was measurable in her estimation, and too precious to jeopardize. She would not allow him to risk all that he had gained by raising fresh doubts of his abilities and erroneously believing that Lyrium was the only way he could be effective in the field. Bull and Cassandra were impressive fighters in their own right, and neither used Lyrium. The same could hold true for Cullen if he only gave himself the chance to witness it first hand. 

He had initially not been pleased with the restraint she had placed upon him, but once her reasoning had been explained her beloved had raised no further arguments beyond the condition that if the situation grew dire enough he would stop at nothing to safeguard their lives - hers above all. And while his words spoke of the Inquisition’s need and the securing of their cause, the emotion swirling in his eyes told her those were not the only driving forces behind his provision. 

In spite of the limitations imposed upon him in battle and the less than desirable circumstances which drove them to venture forth as they did, Cullen seemed somehow more relaxed during their journeys. The ability to cut down foes and contribute ideas of where they should search next seemed to provide him with a satisfaction he did not frequently show in the confines of his office. 

It was only after a fruitless trip to the Emerald Graves, when Cora had decided that a trip to Emprise du Lion was in order, that Cullen declared duty and a need to restock their provisions called them back to Skyhold first. To her disappointment he informed her shortly before their arrival that he should remain at Skyhold for at least a few days to attend to matters he had been neglecting while she searched the snow covered cragland as planned.

Cora’s only consolation had been that they had now devastated the presence of all known major lyrium deposits - having cleared Emprise du Lion on a prior excursion before her hunt for Samson. While traces remained within the ground, and would render the place dangerous for some time to come, nothing worth harvesting remained. Since the final node’s destruction Varric had brightened considerably, and had been doing his level best to improve the party’s morale before splitting off once they reached the castle’s gates. Hawke would need to know of this success, and Cora was certain Varric could find better company than their presently surly group. 

A meal, a bath, and a few hours of catching up on current requisitions at her desk saw Cora’s temper cooled when she at last released herself from her chambers. As she entered the great hall she found Varric at his usual place beside the fire, but there was no parchment beneath his fingers as she expected to find. Instead the man approached her quickly, beaming in earnest as he informed her that he had been looking for her. ‘They’ had almost had to start without her, he relayed with more excitement than she had recalled leaving him with. More receptive to his lighthearted mood now than she had been earlier, Cora relented to her curiosity. She had nowhere pressing to be this evening, after all, and was eager for a chance to bolster her own spirits.

So the Inquisitor allowed her jovial friend to lead her from the castle down to the tavern, which had a message in Varric’s own hand tacked to the door declaring the establishment closed for the evening. Puzzled that Cabot would have permitted such a claim, she followed as Varric escorted her in with all the airs of owning the place. 

Seated around the table at the center of the room was the majority of her inner circle; Cullen in the midst of it all, granting her a small smile that failed to reach his eyes while saluting her with a tankard of ale which had barely been touched. 

“I found her, Ruffles,” Varric called to their Ambassador, “deal her in!” Josephine chuckled and began to carefully dole out the cards, including a hand to the empty chair at the Antivan’s side. The rush of affection she felt for Varric was immense, for there was no doubt this had been his doing. After all drinking and cards had been his preferred form of amusement since his days with Hawke in Kirkwall. 

Cora took her seat and the table talk quickly commenced as Cassandra plunked a tankard down in front of her, the froth spilling out over the brim tantalizingly. Cullen put forth a singular effort to disdain the game in favor of work but Cora’s challenging stare from over the rim of her drink, combined with playful quips from Dorian and Varric, quelled the attempt. Cora knew perfectly well that she was not the only one who needed their spirits lifted at that moment.

Bets were placed with a good deal of bluster and as cups emptied stories flowed, and not all from Varric. Bull told of a particularly daring escape with his Chargers, Dorian of Tevinter aristocracy making accidental asses of themselves publicly, and Varric of Hawke’s surprisingly long history of antics - which surprised Cora given how serious the Champion had appeared during their encounters. 

When Cullen announced Varric’s tale reminded him of an event, and proceeded to tell a story of a recruit’s public humiliation turned legend in the Ferelden Circle, Cora’s heart nearly exploded with joy. He was laughing, joyful in a way she had not seen him in so very long. Not since their private chess game, which seemed to have been ages ago. Her eyes flicked over to Varric, who was seated beside her lover and laughing heartily as the story unfurled. 

_ Maker bless you, you beautiful man! _ She was going to have to do something truly special for the dwarf after this. They had needed this!

“I can top that,” Cora announced once Cullen finished his story and the clamour of appreciation died down. She began to tell the story of her Harrowing - an event she hadn’t spoken of since the day it had taken place. She knew she was violating multiple rules placed upon her by the First Enchanter in speaking of the event, but alcohol had loosened her tongue. Besides, Cullen had left the Templars and the only other mage in attendance found the affair humorous. And it wasn’t as if Cora  _ knew _ how she had shapeshifted. Disorientation was common following a Harrowing, after all.

The coin piles soon began to shift, and Cora’s own small cache from her pockets dwindled at a shocking rate. She pulled the few remaining silvers she had vowed not to gamble away and flipped them onto the table as Cullen rallied himself against their Ambassador. The booze in Cora’s belly was warming her insides and slowing her mind, and part of her knew it would be better to put the coins away and sit this hand out. But Cullen was all challenges and amusement, and not a small amount of ale himself, and Cora wanted so badly to play a part in drawing his pleasure out.

“I want another chance to win my dignity back,” she muttered at Varric, who grinned knowingly at her as she took the cards she was dealt. Of the nine hands that followed Cora won two and Josephine won seven... with Cullen running out of coin after the second hand. Before the well wishes for a good night could be uttered as he moved to push himself from the table Cora glared at him deviously.

“Conceding to your defeat, are you, ser?” She goaded, knowing just the right taunt to draw him back in. “And here I thought the leader of my armies didn’t know the meaning of the word.”

Chortles and a few amused comments arose from around the table as Cullen sank back into his seat, a predatory grin spreading across his face as he squared off against her. “And what, Inquisitor, would you expect of a man with no coin left in his pockets?” His words were slow and deliberate and, though she had never before witnessed it, she recognized the novelty of Cullen well into his drink.

Leaning over her own meager coin pile in a posture that matched his she lowered her voice, attempting to affect her usual authority, though with about as much success as her lover, judging from the snickers surrounding her. “I would expect, Commander,” she returned, “for you to come up with a proper battle plan.” 

Cullen sat in silence for a time, appraising her from one of those gazes she knew him to apply to Dorian when the mage was cheating at chess. He was strategizing; puzzling out his path to victory, and before she could open her mouth for another round of banter his gloved fingers lifted to the clasps of his mantel and he swung the heavy fur and fabric garment onto the table.

“Ambassador, deal me in.”

Cora grinned a mouth full of teeth and threw her own silver onto the maroon folds before her as cheers and guesses on who the victor would be called forth from every side of their table. Josephine and Cora played their hands as well and when the cards were laid down Cora crowed her victory, swinging the fur over her shoulders in a grandiose gesture that almost upset more than one tankard.

But Cora’s victory over the Commander had the unintended result of giving the cunning Antivan the idea to follow the Inquisitor’s lead. Bit by bit Josephine stripped the Commander of the Inquisition’s army of every stitch of his clothing, before even going so far as to win the mantle from Cora to ensure her conquest was complete.

With every coin brought to the table now piled neatly before the dark-haired beauty, and Cullen’s own equipment withdrawn from the tavern as quickly as it was won, it was universally decided that the evening was over. In a gesture of goodwill to their ruined opponent, those in attendance who were still conscious left before the Commander stood, with only a couple of jibes tossed about at his expense.

And though they knew each other in the most intimate way imaginable, Cullen’s head jerked towards the door in a silent plea for Cora to leave as well; his cheeks heavily tinted with a combination of alcohol and embarrassment. As she made for the door a chair scraped at her back, bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as the boisterous guffaw of the Iron Bull gave evidence that he had roused from his stupor just in time to lay eyes upon the backside fleeing from the tavern into the night. It took all of Cora’s self control not to laugh loudly at the image her mind conjured.

Once outside it was easy enough to pick Josephine’s gittering form out as it ascended the stairs into the castle, and Cora was not so gone into her drink that jogging to catch up with the woman was difficult.

“What would it take for you to give me Cullen’s armor?” She asked once she had closed the distance between the pair. Josephine’s eyes danced mischievously even in the pale moonlight.

“Are we negotiating for the release of the captives, Inquisitor?”

Cora’s smile was wide. “That’s certainly one way to put it.”

“Very well. Sit for the portrait,” Josephine’s response was immediate and blunt, and Cora nearly groaned, her smile dying upon her lips. She hadn’t considered that and wondered if this was an elaborate plan devised by the Ambassador the entire time! 

Josephine had been of the opinion that all great leaders should have their portraits commissioned, and for weeks had been at Cora to set aside time to pose for such a painting. Cora had thus far argued that she could think of far more practical uses for her time, such as picking elfroot or fighting a Hivernal Dragon. Bull had been at her for months on the latter task.

But now Josephine had found her leverage and Cora knew her arguments would no longer spare her.

“Agreed,” Cora sighed. “But I get the armor tonight.” 

“Of course,” Josephine smiled graciously. “Your word is sufficient for my terms. And I see no reason why we should delay in satisfying our arrangement. I will schedule the sitting to begin in the morning and clear your schedule accordingly.”

The two parted company with the promise that Cullen’s equipment would be brought to the Inquisitor, and Cora returned to her chambers to prepare for the night. Just over an hour later a knock at her door announced the arrival of Josephine as well as the promised delivery.

“Forgive the delay,” the Antivan smiled. “I took the liberty of having the Commander’s things laundered and tended to by the smith. While the Commander may have been inconvenienced for an evening it does not stand to reason that the inconvenience cannot have a purpose.”

Cora thanked the Ambassador and then appraised her costly prizes once she was alone again. The clothing was still warm to the touch, having been pulled from the drying line before the fire very recently. The breastplate and pauldrons also displayed evidence of their care; the dents and scuffs she had become familiar with were no longer present in the mirror-like sheen of the metallic surfaces.

Lifting the fur-trimmed mantle Cora pressed the softest part of it to her cheek. She could no longer catch her lover’s scent in the fur with as much ease, but the feel of it against her skin was just as familiar as the man himself. With her face buried in the soft fibers Cora could imagine his arms around her.

And from her musings an idea sprang to life; one that brought a wide smile to her face. Perhaps it was the alcohol that was still fogging her mind. Perhaps it was a desire to affect him when she wasn’t present, as he could affect her. Whatever the cause, her resolution was complete.

Reaching for her travel pack, Cora located the coin purse she had thankfully not thought to bring from her room earlier that night. Had she taken it her losses would have been substantial. From it she began counting out gold coins and setting them aside until she was certain she had enough.

Now she had only to pen a quick note and then manage her time precisely tomorrow.

XXXX

The following morning brought an early visit from their Ambassador, as well as an entourage of men and women bringing her breakfast and various supplies undoubtedly required for her sitting. An older man with deeply stained fingers followed on Josephine’s heels, whom her friend introduced as the painter commissioned to take her likeness. With barely a bow to his subject the grey-haired man immediately began calling out orders in a thick Orlesian accent for the servants to adjust the setting while asking Cora to change into the clothing she would be painted in - her formal gown from the Winter Palace, Josephine had decided. Excusing herself to the washroom to change she discreetly nodded for the Antivan woman to follow.

“Josephine,” Cora murmured once the two were alone, feeling every bit of the apprehension she knew was appropriate to express, “I’ve agreed to sit for the painting. But that doesn’t mean I have to be a public spectacle throughout the process, does it?”

The Ambassador’s smile was distinctly compassionate in view of the fact that she was the architect behind Cora’s discomfort. “Certainly not. I shall see to it that the room is cleared of all unnecessary attendants during your sitting.”

“I would,” Cora stumbled slightly, “also appreciate it if you were not present. I feel foolish enough at the idea of having to pose in some ridiculous manner for hours. It will be much easier if it is your artist alone I have to pose for.”

It would have undoubtedly been more difficult to convince the event’s deviser to maintain her distance had Cora not allowed every bit of the anxiety she felt to be expressed at the idea of being studied for hours on end. After a few more words of pleading Josephine at last agreed graciously. The woman could be persistent, but that did not mean she was completely unfeeling. 

With the candles and those in reserve situated to ensure proper lighting, Cora's gown and hair properly set, and the backdrop in place , Josephine took her leave. And true to her word so did everyone in attendance but the painter.

“Forgive me,” Cora said once the door closed at the bottom of the stairs, “I failed to get your name earlier.”

“Enzo Laframboise,” the Orlesian man intoned with a stilted bow. “Your Ambassador was directed to me by Comtesse Dieulafoy. I painted the Comtesse’s portrait for her wedding, amongst many others.”

“I see,” Cora remarked with as much enthusiasm she could realistically muster, given her disinterest in the pomp of aristocracy. “I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing the Comtesse’s painting. But if Josephine is impressed I can’t imagine it being anything short of a masterpiece.”

“It is one of my best works,” the man admitted, at last allowing a smile to crease his features.

“Tell me, ser,” Cora continued, licking her lips nervously, “how much coin would it require to paint me in a second portrait today?”

XXXX

Cora appraised herself in her small washroom mirror quickly, ensuring she had brushed the last of the curls from her hair and wiped the paint from her face before adjusting the pendent at her throat - the coin Cullen had gifted to her for luck. With a bracing sigh and a nod to her reflection Cora returned to her main bedchamber.

To her relief Enzo comported himself with all of the tact of a true professional. In her absence he had set the scene for the second painting while she had changed. A smaller easel had been set up before the sofa where she wished to pose while thick draperies hung from a massive screen tucked behind the furniture. Leaning against the soft white fabric were Cullen’s own sword and shield, gleaming in the warm candlelight. Enzo’s expression was bland when he turned his eyes on Cora, which she had not anticipated. Here she was standing before a total stranger clad in nothing more than her pendant and Cullen’s mantle, which she held tightly about her nudity. She had expected him to express some degree of awkwardness at the encounter until a thought occurred to her while he instructed her on how to seat herself upon the sofa.

“Do you paint many of these kinds of portraits?” She asked as she took her place upon the cushions, and the older man lifted a conspiratorial brow. 

“Inquisitor, you are not the only woman in the course of history who has wanted to gift her secret lover with such a momento,” he answered while not truly admitting to anything. “Rest assured, in Orlais an artist succeeds as much by his discretion as he does by his skill with a brush. Your public painting will speak of my talents well enough. And the rest will speak to my character.”

Without another word on the subject the man leaned the shield against her knees before instructing her to take hold of it using only her thighs. The cold air immediately met her nethers and Cora felt her cheeks begin to burn at the knowledge that only Cullen’s shield hid her from this stranger’s sight. It was a feeling that would have driven her to dismiss the whole idea as idiotic had Enzo not seemed so wholly disinterested in anything beyond properly situating the setting for the lighting.

“How much feeling should this painting invoke in your lover?” His abrupt question caught Cora off guard, and she finally admitted that she wanted to instill in her lover the same longing thoughts of him which he could raise in her. 

With a nod and a quick request for her to pardon his hands, Enzo began adjusting the folds of fabric and long locks of hair draped over Cora’s shoulders, revealing the full extent of her cleavage as well as an ample view of the swell of her breasts while concealing her most intimate places. Her arms were tucked against her to help add to the fullness of her breasts while the grip of Cullen’s sword was rested within their soft crease; the point of the blade resting in the carpet beyond the shield. Ink-stained hands positioned the fingers of Cora’s main-hand elegantly around the grip of the sword while the other hand curled loosely around the crossguard from the underside. Never once did his hands stray inappropriately and if something delicate required attention she was verbally given instructions. If he gaped at all it was at her palm alone as he positioned her fingers on the crossguard; her mark quiet this day but still glowing faintly in the last of the afternoon light.

A last Enzo took hold of Cora’s chin and tilted it down towards the pommel, her lips close enough to the wide metal tip Cullen so frequently laid his hand upon that if she leaned in just a little further she could have kissed it. The painter was adamant, however, that she maintained the precise distance he had established between her lips and the pommel. “This painting must invoke your lover’s desires for action without actually satisfying them,” he recited, “that, dear Inquisitor, is your task alone.”

Cora decided she liked this man.

“Now,” he commanded, “this is your task for the rest of this sitting. Picture your lover standing just behind me and, using your eyes alone, call him to you.”

XXXX

Josephine’s smile beamed brightly as she stood before the massive canvas in Cora’s room. “It is precisely what I had hoped for,” she trilled happily, turning to face the artist. “Ser, the Inquisition is thoroughly in your debt.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine, I assure you,” Enzo replied courteously. “I can truthfully say that I cannot recall painting a portrait in which the subject was so captivatingly expressive.” In spite of the absolute innocence his statement portrayed Cora felt her cheeks blush heavily; her unease lost to Josephine who could only gaze at the noblewoman in the portrait approvingly. 

Indeed, Cora’s visage before them was a sight to behold. One hand lifted before her, shards of green emanating from the palm with such realism Cora wondered if they were capable of producing light in a darkened room. In her other hand one of her daggers rested against the fine blue fabric of her formal gown; her hold upon the grip so graceful she could have been weilding a lady’s fan. 

But it was the face within the nest of blonde curls that drew in the eye. Though the features belonged to her, they held such an air of authority and regal dignity Cora herself felt as though she should be bowing to the painted figure. She certainly could not imagine that she had actually held that expression once in her life and in spite of her disinterest in such noble decedencies found herself flattered at the light in which she had been captured. If the goal of this portrait had been to instill awe, it had worked.

“Enzo, your skills are truly remarkable.” She said and smiled for the beaming man at her side. She would have to admit to Josephine later that the woman had been right to insist upon the painting. At least Josephine had the tact to not make the admission a torturous affair.

Glancing towards the window Cora gauged the time by the sun in the sky and allowed that she could admire the artistry for a bit longer. He wouldn’t be back from the training fields for some time to come.

XXXX

Wearily Cullen closed the door to his office. The day had been long, and the Inquisitor’s portrait, newly hung in the throne room, instilled a sense of guilt and shame within him. The Inquisitor had skillfully avoided Josephine’s requests that she sit for the portrait since the Winter Palace. He was confident she never would have agreed to such nonsense willingly. That she had managed to procure his lost armor and weaponry from the Ambassador the very day that her portrait had been commissioned could not have been coincidence. And although she had said nothing to him of her reasons for agreeing to Josephine’s request, Cullen placed the blame squarely upon his own shoulders. The only consolation was how magnificent the painting had turned out. Her likeness was genuine, with none of the ridiculous wigs or baubles that made Orlesian portraits unbearable to look upon seriously.

Yet none of that changed the fact that he had been the instrument in which Josephine had secured her victory over the Inquisitor, and for that Cullen knew that he was indebted to Cora. Knowing that Samson’s capture was one thing that was certain to alleviate her nerves as well as his own, the Commander returned to his desk to pour over reports in an effort to glean where the fallen templar could be hiding.

A neatly folded message laying atop his papers halted his intent, however. The wax closing the parchment was set in Cora’s personal seal and without another thought he broke the delicate red disk.

_ ‘Go to bed. It can wait until morning. _

_ ~C.’ _

With a reconciled sigh he dropped the message back to the desk and reluctantly began extinguishing the candles and lamps in the room. He had no desire to sleep but he could at least honor her wishes and make the attempt.

It was upon cresting the ladder that he noticed his room was not as he had left it. The candle upon the bedside table had been lit, the bedclothes had been straightened, and resting on top of the fabric was a wooden box no larger than one of Dorian’s tomes.

Curiously Cullen released the catch of the box, flipping back the lid and pulling aside the silken fabric within before his breath caught sharply in his lungs.

_ Maker’s breath! _

His first thought was that she was wearing his mantle, followed quickly by the observation that she wore  _ only _ his mantle. The fur-topped cloak currently fastened to his shoulders was shown draped over her breasts; the mahogany fabric pooled around her, yet not so much that he could not see the distinct lack of clothing beneath it. There was no strap of a breast band at her ribs, nor the thin fabric of small clothes over the smooth, bare skin of her hips. His own shield concealed her nudity from his eyes while his sword… his grip tightened upon the pommel, suddenly envious of the metal in his grasp.

What captivated him the most was the way she gazed at him. He could not have pulled his eyes from the portrait even if he had tried. Maker, he knew that look. It was her hunger. Her want. She had looked upon him that way from the softness of this very mattress, and Andraste preserve him, he had not once been able to resist it. He expected at any moment to see the plump lips on the canvas part and engulf the pommel of his sword as she would-

The sound of the door below opening and closing softly pulled him partially from his decadent thoughts and it took all of his restraint to stifle the groan in his chest.

“What do you think?” The voice beneath called after a moment; low but still audible over the howling of the wind from beyond his broken ceiling, and his fingers flexed upon his sword’s grip. His lips parted yet no sound came forth. “Cullen?” Cora called again, this time more quizzical than intimate.

“I am-” he replied through a croak, “here. I’m here.” The muted thudding of soft leather boots against his ladder announced her arrival, but his eyes remained fixed to the portrait. He knew that he should turn and greet her, but-

“I understand many women of importance have such paintings commissioned for their lovers,” she said quietly once she had entered his private quarters, and he could hear the smirk on her lips though his attention was fixated on the seduction before him. “And Josephine is always telling me I should try to fit in with polished society more.”

His mind stumbled over her words as he finally tore his gaze from her gift. “When- that is... did Josephine-”

“Maker, no!” Cora laughed. “She arranged for my formal portrait and I threw in the coin and the time for this one. Privately, of course. Thought if I was going to sit for a painting, I might as well get some enjoyment from it.”

Cullen’s throat tightened. “And did you?” He asked cautiously, not certain he wanted to know the answer. “Enjoy it?”

“Not yet,” the woman before him murmured, changing her stance so she faced him squarely, “but I’m hoping the  _ investment  _ pays off. The sooner,” she breathed, rising to her toes in a clear attempt to close the distance between their mouths,” the better.”

His eyes flicked down to the painting upon the bed; to the lips hovering over the pommel of his sword and the eyes burning with desire. 

“Do you like it?” The words were whispered against his cheek and Cullen swallowed. How was it this woman could discompose him so easily? After all that they had shared already?

“I-” his gaze returned to hers and found her nearing the very state that had been captured in paint. “Y-yes,” he breathed, “Very much so.”

“Good,” Cora practically purred, reaching for the catches that held his mantle to his armor. “Now allow me to give you a personal viewing of the scene.”

XXXX

Cora had departed with her travel party for Emprise du Lion four days ago, though it had not been such a bittersweet parting as Cullen had once thought it would be. While both the remnants of the red lyrium which he dared not face and the trepidation of a rift which could wrench him from this world still gnawed at him, hope now bloomed anew.

For Cora would be returning to Skyhold as soon as the Inquisition scouts located her and brought her the news which would see to her prompt return. Leliana’s spies had finally made headway in their searches, and once they had the Inquisitor’s approval their forces would next be moving into the Arbor Wilds. A sense of confidence was returning to the Commander after living in uncertainty for so long. The soldiers were preparing for deployment and Morrigan was currently engrossed in efforts she claimed would give the Inquisition equal footing with the darkspawn magister. All that was left was to await the Inquisitor’s return and counsel her on their next steps.

Over the last few days Dorian had taken up the task as Cullen’s diversion and pulled the Commander from duty daily to take part in a game of chess. The first invitation he had received had been worded in such a way that Cullen could not tell if the idea had been Dorian’s or Cora’s, and so he had begrudgingly agreed with the stipulation that it would only be an hour each day and no more. And while he firmly believed there were dozens of more important matters demanding his attention, he also knew that if the plan had been Cora’s he would not escape the repercussions of dismissing them sooner or later.

Now Cullen sat before the board, hiding the smirk as best as he could as he adjusted his strategy accordingly. Dorian’s attempts at cheating had never been subtle, though he was confident the Altus believed them to be unrecognizable, but this one had been uncharacteristically cavelier.

“I do sometimes wonder what goes on in that head of yours,” the mage said with a jovial shake of his dark locks, and the smirk Cullen had been withholding broke free at last. They had been making idle chatter up to this point and it was clear Dorian intended to continue the banter.

“Do you?” He asked, making his next play and foiling his opponent's attempt with one turn. His smile turned smug. “And why is that?” 

“Well to start,” the Tevinter man leaned in over the board, studying the pieces, “you have this perverse habit of pushing away anything that might bring you some enjoyment. Yet, when you finally stop to take part in something that doesn’t involve sticking swords into the vitals of others, you’re uncommonly good at it.”

An unconscious frown dipped Cullen’s features at the memory of the embarrassing card game he had taken part in just over a week earlier. “Not always,” he corrected, and Dorian laughed. Clearly his thoughts had ventured to the same night.

“I didn’t say you were particularly good at the game. It’s your overall presence that is enjoyable to be around. Why some might dare to call you fun!” Dark fingers reached down to move a piece - a legal move this time - and his voice dipped as he went on. “Some might call you more than fun,” he added conspiratorially, his brow rising in clear innuendo. “Much more, I dare say.”

The frown was now intentional and deeper as it creased Cullen’s features. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “no more than a certain mercenary might say of you, though.”

Cullen was well aware that his relationship with Cora was a secret shared between the couple and nearly the entirety of Skyhold, though most had the good sense to at least feign ignorance. Dorian was not always among those numbers. Yet it was just as much of a secret that he and Iron Bull had been engaged in a romance of their own for some time; a fact which the Altus seemed at present as unwilling to speak to as Cullen was of his own relationship.

“True,” the word was delivered slowly and in a low voice as pewter eyes flashed up to cut at Cullen intently, “but no mercenary has commissioned a painting for me.”

Cullen’s fingers froze over the piece he had been preparing to move. “What?” The game was forgotten as the mage’s carefully maintained gaze consumed all of the blonde man’s attention.

Now it was Dorian’s turn to cast a wicked smile on his opponent. “Oh not to worry, Commander,” he drawled with a lazy wave of his hand. “No one has laid eyes upon anything which might be considered scandalous,” the taunting brow’s arch now expressed more threat than mockery, “and any one or two who may have tried in recent days no doubt learned the unspoken limits set upon Skyhold’s intrigues.” Dorian stared pointedly at the piece beneath Cullen’s fingers until the man moved it blindly before carrying on. “I only mention it because there are those - a very few mind you - who might simply find it endearing that such a thoughtful gift could be commissioned. Those same few would perhaps,” the gaze across the board lifted once more and locked intently with Cullen’s “also recommend that if one is to have a hiding place for valuables, one chooses a place that is more discreet than a locked chest in their quarters. The  _ bees _ have been very busy in Skyhold lately.”

Cullen frowned, at first unable to comprehend what Dorian was saying until a dread washed over him. The over-annunciated word at last clicking in his mind.

_ Sera. _

A warm chuckle blossomed across the table and Cullen realized his panic must have been visible. “Don’t do anything drastic, Commander. A lot of coin was likely expended for the gesture. Perhaps you should simply take a tour of your rooms. Look around carefully- you know those rooms better than anyone. I’m certain that something helpful will pop right out at you where you least expect it!

“And speaking of the expected-” Dorian’s fingers dipped down to the board clicking a piece into place, and Cullen glanced blankly down at the arrangement. “It would seem I win this round. Well played Commander. Let’s do this again tomorrow. Now I believe you have some housekeeping to attend to. I won’t keep you any longer.”

With that Dorian rose with a wink from the table and strode off towards the main castle. Without bothering to pack away the game Cullen all but sprinted for his own chambers.

While the idea of Dorian knowing of the existence of the painting was worrisome, the thought of the painting falling into the hands of the thief left a stone pit of terror in his stomach.

He hoped that whatever Dorian had arranged for in his room would ‘pop’ out at him quickly.

XXXX 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter so far. I loved getting a little carried away here, I'll totally admit!


	10. Chapter 10:  Prelude

Cullen found the arcane advisor quickly enough. She favored the garden more than any other place in Skyhold and while cordial, her smile upon seeing him approach her was not exactly comforting. Smoothly she stood from her crouched position before a handful of pale green buds poking out of the dark soil. 

“Is there something you care to discuss that could not have been said in the war room, Commander?” Morrigan’s voice was soft, though her eyes did not share its warmth.

“There is, in fact.” He began, seeing no point in delay. She had not come to Skyhold in search of pleasantries and he had no desire to waste them upon her. “The eluvian. The Inquisitor cannot enter it.”

“Oh, but I assure you she can,” the woman replied smoothly, amusement touching her features, “and has already, if you must know.”

Cullen’s spine stiffened; his voice escaping bared teeth in a low growl. “You led her through the mirror?” 

It was enough to know every Fade rift Cora closed could at any moment wrench her from this world as he, himself, had been. The fear had plagued him since his memories first returned, and had not been alleviated at her safe re-emergence from the Fade. But these eluvians still left much to uncertainty which unnerved him all the more, for Cora had relayed to him what little she had learned from Morrigan of their abilities. Some lead to the far corners of Thedas, while others to worlds beyond the Fade and Thedas. With Cullen personally aware of one such world’s existence, the thought of his beloved entering a mirror only to be lost to him forever turned his stomach. His intent had been singular; to speak with Morrigan and ensure that the Inquisitor never had to face such a possibility.

Unless it became Cora’s wish to return to that world, he thought, quickly pushing the idea back down before it tore the heart from his chest. It was too much to think he could have lost her when she vanished at Adamant and not realized until it was too late. He could not  — would not  — risk losing her forever. Neither could he afford the distraction of always wondering if such an event had occurred each time she left his presence. Safeguards had to be put into place, and he was horrified to discover his efforts had already been rendered moot.

The Empress’s mage smiled her poorly contained amusement at his outrage. “You disapprove. But without exposing her to what lay beyond, she would not comprehend the enormity of that which Corypheus desires.”

“You have no idea what you have risked,” Cullen pressed savagely, barely conscious of how his voice carried within the high stone walls surrounding them.

“Do I not?” Morrigan inquired, her head tilting imperiously as her amusement began to dissipate. “And I am to suppose that you are here to educate me, Commander?”

“You must not allow her to go through the eluvian in the Arbor Wilds,” Cullen repeated desperately while ignoring her taunts. There was no time for such nonsense. “Or  _ any  _ eluvian for that matter. She cannot be lost to whatever places lay beyond those doors.”

Yellow eyes appraised him in silence for longer than he was comfortable with before at last the enigmatic woman spoke again. “Since you care so much,” Morrigan began, and already Cullen did not appreciate her tone in spite of its attempt at seeming accommodating, “I can promise you this. The Inquisitor will not enter the eluvian in the wilds, or any eluvian while she is in my company. But in return, you must do something for me.”

Of course there would be a condition. Though he had successfully abandoned his blanket mistrust of mages, Morrigan’s current behavior was making it difficult to place any faith in her assurance. “And what would that be?” He asked, making no attempt to hide his reservations.

“Where there is an eluvian, old magic will undoubtedly linger, and is likely as dangerous as it is wondrous,” she explained. “It will be beyond the comprehension of most, your Inquisitor included.”

Cullen’s teeth ground behind tight lips. Who was this woman to believe herself above Cora? They were both skilled mages, and the Inquisitor had proven herself capable and clever. During his time in Chicago, where she had no formal training in the arcane, Cora had discovered the means used to return Cullen to Thedas from Chicago. He doubted Morrigan would have fared so well in the same situation. “Perhaps you should come to your point  _ before _ insulting the woman who holds my loyalties.” One dark brow arched in apparent approval, though he could not fathom why, while her voice remained cool and confident.

“Ensure your Inquisitor defers to me on all matters concerning any sources of power discovered once we are within those woods. I am the arcane advisor, and thus this request is not unreasonable. Do this and I will see she does not enter the eluvian, no matter the circumstances.”

Cullen bristled, instantly put on edge. It was clear her motives were founded on something more than duty to her Empress or their mutual cause. If she was intent on using the Inquisition as a means to an end they would contest-

As if aware of the arguments churning within him, Morrigan’s eyes narrowed. “Were I of the desire,” she began, her voice harder, if only slightly, “it would be within my right to abandon your order and return to the Empress. If the Inquisition does not require my counsel in matters which I bear greater knowledge, then my presence here is unnecessary to all.”

His gaze scrutinized her for any sign of betrayal, and Cullen did not consent immediately. He was reluctant to enter into an agreement where he wasn’t certain he was aware of all of the terms. Cullen was of the mind to demand her motives when something close to sincerity touched those strange yellow eyes. Close, but not quite, for the shadow of guarded secrets was as visible in her expression, as always. “I seek only to acquire the eluvian before Corypheus,” her voice was soft, gentle, and perhaps even melancholy. “To preserve what is fading from this world, and to protect what has been forgotten. Nothing more.”

Silence reigned between them for only a breath longer before Cullen’s chin lifted. Guarded though she may be, Morrigan had proven herself to be a reliable source of knowledge in such matters. And while the Inquisitor was certainly competent, there wasn’t time for her to complete a detailed study of what could possibly be hidden within the wilds, rendering Morrigan’s guidance unnecessary. If Cora was to stop Corypheus from obtaining this eluvian she would need the aid of her arcane advisor. He may not entirely trust this woman, but he could believe the advisor held as little desire to see Corypheus succeed as they did. Her aid up to this point proved that much, at least. And there was little option otherwise.

“Very well. I accept your offer. I cannot promise I will succeed, but I will do my best to see to it that Cora listens to your counsel.”

“I have seen the sway you hold over Andraste’s Herald, Commander,” the woman smiled knowingly, “a simple whisper from your lips is all that I require.”

XXXX

The Arbor Wilds were truly as their name implied; a lush, vibrant maze that could hopelessly swallow a man in moments were he not exceedingly careful. For that reason Cullen almost immediately abandoned the base camp and accompanied his men into the trees. Without first-hand knowledge he would know little in how to direct them. Becoming hopelessly lost within this place was not an option. Proper spacing of each deployment along the routes they had secured, from encampment to the fore, ensured that no soldier was without access to immediate aid.

Using this chain-like formation throughout the wilds, Venatori encampments were quickly discovered and put to the torch with few casualties; the inhabitants of those enemy camps brought down by the dozens. Inquisition and Orlesian soldiers moved forward and back along the paths their forces had snaked through the trees, giving men opportunity to rest or retreat where necessary. Cullen had even taken advantage of the luxury of a cot at one time, though not an hour had passed before he had been roused with news of an ancient temple deep within the forest. With such a report, Cullen knew precisely what was required, and the Commander returned to the front where he and his men began to carve a path to the elven ruin. It was certain to be Corypheus’ destination, and would undoubtedly be the Inquisitor’s as well.

From the camp, Cullen and a selection of his stoutest drove onward to the wide, shallow river that ended at the stonework entrance of the temple. There, the Commander issued the order to hold fast. With a deployment of Orlesian soldiers, they put down throngs of red templars emerging from the verdant surroundings in an effort to breach the temple. 

The tide of this battle drastically differed from the last great clash the Inquisition had engaged in. Lessons learned at Adamant, coupled with his outings with the Inquisitor’s traveling party, served him well here. His templar trained abilities were called upon sparingly, while skill with his blade and shield was primarily relied upon. Those injured were immediately sent back along the chain, carrying orders to call for reinforcements from the next closest fist. On and on, relief came along the line of soldiers giving many of the wounded opportunity to fall back. With this tactic, Cullen was spared the heroics that nearly cost him his life in the battle against the Wardens. It was not perfect, but it was progress.

It could have been an hour or a day that he fought, for time escaped his notice. When green energy flared in the watery clearing, Cullen knew before his eyes beheld her that Cora had arrived.

“Press on, Inquisitor!” He shouted as he planted a boot against the chest of a fallen templar, using the leverage to wrench his sword free of his fallen quarry before turning to swing viciously at another who thought to capitalize on his distraction. Lightning seared his would-be attacker before blade met blade; the Inquisitor drawing up beside him before the body had ceased to crackle. Her gaze appraised him quickly and, at the slight jerk of his head towards the temple, she smirked before following his silent command. 

Watching her advance, Cullen’s attention then shifted to the mage at her back; Morrigan’s eyes locked with his and conveyed without words a renewal of their pact. Whatever their exchanges had been outside his presence, Cora must have given the Empress’s mage the impression that she would defer to Morrigan’s advice.

Cullen had been astounded at Cora’s willingness to take his suggestions to heart, especially when it had been directed at a craft he had been conditioned for so long to mistrust. Yet when Cullen had pulled her aside before departing for the Arbor Wilds and voiced his concerns, the Inquisitor had not argued. She had instead admitted to possessing a fascination with what the arcane advisor had already taught her, and a commitment to learning from the woman for a long as their goals aligned.

A brief scowl had touched her features and Cullen knew where her thoughts had turned. Solas was a topic rarely discussed, but Cora had been growing increasingly agitated with the hermit. Even now, as Cora advanced on the temple, Cullen caught her head tip in order to catch sight of the elven mage behind her. Her apprehension unnerved him. He alone knew she had lived this life before, though she had never revealed to him what precisely was to come. 

While Cora carried no conscious memories of her previous life, Cullen feared something buried in the recesses of her mind, remembering some sin the man had committed against her. But, without the memories of the life she had left behind, her lover held little hope she would be able to identify the cause of her mistrust.

Resigned, he watched from the corner of his eye as Cora and her entourage vanished into the temple before dedicating his focus entirely to the task of preventing the Venatori from pursuing her. The effort was long and arduous, but with the appropriate strategy, casualties were limited to a minimum. The number of red templars dwindled to a light trickle of the occasional straggler before finally dying off completely.

Turning to two within his designated deployment he gestured to them with a filthy sword. “You there, take word to Knight-Captain Rylen. The threat has been contained. Conduct sweeps of the area for enemy deserters, including the temple. The rest of you will follow me to aid the Inquisitor in securing the location.”

His orders were carried out with immediate efficiency. Cullen led his handful of soldiers through the archway the Inquisitor had vanished through only to find the ancient courtyard a scene of as much carnage as they had just left. Bodies of red templars littered the grounds both atop the balcony and along the massive bridge below, some marred with the signs of a recent explosion. Beyond the bridge, colossal emblazoned doors had been blasted open; wisps of smoke still lifting gently from the blackened metal. Cora was powerful but not blatantly violent. While it was entirely possible that the doors had been breached before her entrance, Cullen grew increasingly concerned she had encountered something unexpected. With a brusque wave of his sword, he grimly ordered his men forward, praying silently to the Maker that he was wrong.

XXXX

The march through the temple had been maddening. No signs marked the tiled floors, statues or walls which gave any clear avenue to the heart of the long forgotten structure. But it was not due to a state of decay in the structure. As ancient as it appeared, the temple was in surprisingly good order. It was likely a purposeful lack of guidance, as though the ones who had designed this place intended to make entry as tedious as possible. The chasm blown into the ground of the first chamber had undoubtedly been created by the Venatori and, tempted though he may have been to descend and route them out, Cullen’s priorities had shifted from securing the temple to ensuring the Inquisitor was safe. 

Instead, he led his men down the more likely path; one of opened doors and glowing floor tiles that indicated a cooperation with the magic of this place rather than the exertion of force upon it. Morrigan’s influence, no doubt. Cullen could not imagine what it must have entailed for the Inquisitor to open the way.

To his relief, signs of violence were minimal except in one or two places where it had been light skirmishes at most. At last he reached a room at the back of the temple which showed signs of a vicious battle. Cullen’s teeth grated at the silence and he fought against his deepest desire to rush in. Instead, he led his men in cautiously. Corpses of red templars and elves littered the floor, as did one still breathing body. Armor ruined, bound, and battered until nearly broken, Samson lay defeated upon the rocks; his red rimmed eyes rolling up to gaze at the Commander blearily. A surge of hard elation pulsed through Cullen’s veins at the sight of the traitor defeated. 

“I knew you’d come,” Samson growled from his prone position. “Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist gloating over your victory.”

“The Inquisitor,” Cullen spat, unable to hold to the thrill of victory while the woman who had finally brought the man to heel was notably absent, “where is she?” The staircase beyond the fallen man caught his eye even as his feet moved to carry him on without waiting for a response. The platform above seemed somehow to be the heart of this place, and Cullen felt with a growing sense of dread that the eluvian they sought would be up there. The thought of Cora so near to it-

“He won’t let her have the well, you know,” the General called, “he’s going to come for it and when he does, he’ll destroy us all.”

As if to prove just how well Samson knew his master, a dark growl ripped from the platform Cullen and his men had descended from and he watched as a billowing cloud of black energy hurtled through the air towards the platform. Without thought for the man at his feet Cullen charged up the stairs, calling his men to arms.

He crested the steps just in time to see Cora rushing after Morrigan towards the glowing mirror; no doubt to escape. Yet the Inquisitor and her party had not been fast enough. With an almost apologetic glance thrown over her shoulder, Morrigan hurtled herself through the swirling blue energies whereupon the glass shattered at her passage. With a startled cry Cora collided into nothing more than an empty frame, glancing up at the ruined artifact incredulously before turning her attention back towards the darkspawn magister at her back. Green energies flared in her hand brilliantly as her features steeled for battle.

Knowing the odds were decidedly against them, for the Inquisitor had only four in her group and his own soldiers numbered only ten, Cullen raised his sword. There was no other option. “Flank him!” He bellowed into the air. “Give no quarter!”

Soldiers at his back split off to surround Corypheus, while Cullen prepared to employ every templar-trained advantage at his disposal. “Inquisitor, go!” He shouted, ignoring the way blue-green eyes widened in horror at his words. “We’ll cover your escape!”

As though in accordance with his own command, a pillar of water erupted from the circular depression at the center of the platform. To his astonishment, a shape emerged within, feminine and as translucent as the conjured water surrounding it, the figure barring the path between Corypheus and his prey. With a sneer of deformed lips the magister lunged, only to be struck physically by the entity; the pillar twisting as it followed his movements to send him hurtling back. A roar of unbridled rage ripped from the darkspawn’s throat, and in a flurry of black tendrils Corypheus carried himself over the walls surrounding the clearing, disappearing from view. The threat vanished, the pillar which had pursued the magister lost all form, splashing to the stone beneath it where all traces of its existence promptly evaporated into nothingness.

The clearing fell eerily silent for a moment before Cullen gathered enough of his wits to speak. “Inquisitor, are you all right?”

Cora blinked, the crackling light in her palm fading until it possessed only its typical glow. The expression in her eyes changed several times in the course of only a few seconds as she stared at him. He witnessed confusion, anger, and fear warring for dominance before she at last composed herself. “I’m fine. What Corypheus was after is no longer in his reach.”

With a purposeful stride, and a pointed glare at her Commander that promised an argument later as she passed him, Cora started for the stairs. “There’s nothing more for us here. Let’s finish up and return to Skyhold.”

He knew what lay ahead, but he would not apologize for offering to hold Corypheus at bay while she escaped. There was always Rylen to succeed him if Cullen was lost, but without the Inquisitor the Inquisition would cease to be. In the grand scheme of things her life was infinitely more important than any of theirs. She could choose to see that or not.

And romantically… if that was the argument she wanted to have, he would gladly engage in it later, when it was appropriate. But he could truthfully admit affection had played no part in what had motivated him. If she chose to make it a lover’s quarrel, she would do so without basis.

And if any doubt of that conviction crept into his mind, Cullen was quick to dampen it.

XXXX

  
  


Word had reached Cora quickly that Morrigan had arrived at Skyhold ahead of the Inquisitor and her inner circle per Leliana’s scouts. Morrigan made all of the necessary assurances to the Spymaster that she had no intention of abandoning her post.

The promises, however, were of little comfort to Cora. Throughout the journey home the Inquisitor seethed at being thrown to the wolves by the mage; her short temper occasionally finding an outlet in an unlucky friend or advisor. With Josephine and her traveling party she regretted her outbursts, but with Cullen she allowed herself free reign to be irritable. In addition to her anger with Morrigan, Cora hadn’t forgiven her Commander for attempting to stay behind and fight Corypheus alone, even if Cassandra had pointed out the necessity of the decision. He may lead the armies but she led the movement. 

Cora may understand, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

The moment the gates to Skyhold had clamored open, Cora had abandoned her travel party for the courtyard Morrigan frequented without so much as a parting word to Cullen or the others.

“I want to know why,” she demanded the moment the dark-haired woman had come into view. “Why did you leave us there to die?”

The look in the advisor’s eyes could have almost been remorseful. “I can assure you that was not my intention,” she replied in an oddly gentle voice. “In taking myself through the mirror I removed the power of the well from Corypheus’s grasp. And in destroying the mirror I denied him the lesser, but still significant, prize we had feared he pursued initially. That you were left behind was regrettable, but I dared not wait and risk gaining him such an advantage.”

“You could have gotten us killed!” Cora railed. “Had it not been for some sort of residual magic in the temple, and Cullen and his men, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

“Residual magic?” Morrigan’s interest visibly piqued. “What manner of magic?”

“A column of water,” Cora replied bitterly, “from where the well had been. It struck out at Corypheus before he retreated.”

“A defensive measure of the temple?” Morrigan mused. “Perhaps set off by one who did not possess the ‘right’ as Abelas had mentioned? A curious thing. Tis a pity I could not see it myself.”

Cora sneered. “If you hadn’t shut the eluvian so quickly, you might have.”

“And if I had held it open longer you might have made it through before Corypheus, but then the Commander and his men would have been left to the darkspawn alone. T’is entirely possible that, as the one who completed the rituals, the temple rallied in defense of you - a proven supplicant - as well as itself. I wonder, had you not been there, would the residual magic have risen up in defense of your Commander?”

Cora’s temper instantly began to cool at this suggestion. Abelas’s cooperation had only been gained through the completion of the rituals, this much he had stated himself. And the pillar of water had indeed sprouted up between her and Corypheus - not in a position to defend Cullen.

What if Morrigan was right, and the temple’s aid had been conditional? Had Cora not been left behind, would Cullen and his men be alive right now?

“I do not regret my actions,” Morrigan admitted, “for they deprived Corypheus of advantages that could have had dire consequences not just for the Inquisition, but for the world. I do, however, regret the danger you faced as a result of those measures. Know that if I had been certain I could have secured you and still prevented Corypheus from obtaining the eluvian, I would have done so.”

Cora shook her head, the fire dwindling from her irritation, much to her annoyance. “Just do me a favor and, in the future, try to put a little more effort into not getting me killed?”

The Inquisitor didn’t wait for a response. Cora wanted to seethe but Morrigan’s reasoning was making it increasingly difficult for her to direct that hostility. Instead she left without a parting word, making her way to the tavern.

Bull sometimes liked to be hit with a stick when he was feeling afraid. Maybe he’d let her take a few cracks at him to work off her anger.

XXXX 

Cora hadn’t been surprised when Cullen had stepped in to facilitate Samson’s trial. But she had expected to feel something more than she felt now as she watched the broken man dragged in irons before her throne. And in glancing at her Commander she could see the same in his expression. After so much time hunting this man, there was no sense of triumph. No thrill at taking the General’s head in the name of vengeance or justice. Just fatigue. For every victory they managed to secure over Corypheus, the magister somehow dreamt up a new obstacle for the Inquisition to have to struggle to overcome. This war was stretching on forever, it seemed, and right now Cora’s only wish was for it to be over.

Cullen began to describe the offenses Samson had committed, and as he spoke Cora waited for arrogance like Erimond, or hostility of another sort. But when Samson responded to the charges it was not to attack, but to voice his own resignation and defense of the hope he had knowingly deceived his men with. Cora found herself taken aback. 

He had known. All this time serving Corypheus, Samson had known the templars would be ruined. Yet all he had wanted was to give the men under his command a cause to fight for; for he and those like him not to die in the streets as broken husks of what they had been. While his efforts had been grossly misguided and twisted, in the end, he had sought after the same thing Cullen had struggled for: redemption.

She dared not allow herself to imagine Cullen being in Samson’s position. She didn’t want to consider how easily the two could have been switched, were they placed in each other’s circumstances. Instead, she hardened her resolve.

Her mind was set.

“Samson, you’ll spend what time you have left serving the Inquisition,” she announced to the bowed head before her. “Cullen will be your handler. And maybe you can be useful to the right cause for once.”

Reddened eyes lifted to peer at her from below the dias, his voice lifting apathetically. “I doubt the Commander believes there’s anything worthy left in me.”

She could agree with Cullen there. In his present state Samson was lost. But that didn’t stop her from hoping. Or maybe she was just foolishly displacing her desire to help Cullen onto this man. A man who, given the right opportunities, might have been as worthy and noble as her beloved.

Maybe she wanted Samson to prove to her that, had he been lost so badly, Cullen could still have been recovered too.

The thoughts troubled her more than she could say. As she watched Samson escorted from the room, she sent a silent prayer to the Maker that somehow he could find a sliver of redemption.

XXXX

With the trial over, Cora hardly waited for the room to clear out before following Cullen to his office, where she found the man hurtling knives into a practice dummy. Without a greeting of any sort he began voicing his disgust of the man she had just passed judgment upon. Almost immediately, Cora began to question her own idle sentiments that had compared Cullen and Samson, until Cullen himself voiced the acknowledgement she had reluctantly toyed with. 

She was not the only one who understood that, had things not played out for him as they had, Cullen could have ended up among the disgraced templars. Perhaps he couldn’t see himself in Samson’s place directly, but he knew enough of the situation to make the connection. The sentiment instantly filled her with an even deeper regret for the plight those men now faced. They could have served to protect nobly, as Cullen did, rather than battle on in the service of one who would see the world torn down to rubble.

He then posed a question to her she had not been prepared for. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had not been at the conclave? If you’d never become the Inquisitor?” His eyes grew distant then, and she instantly recognized the sign that he had been pulled into his own head again, though he continued to speak through it this time. “Or if there is a world out there where there is no constant battle or struggle to survive? What it would be like to live there?”

Cora stepped forward, placing her hand on his and squeezing his fingers through his glove. “Would this perfect world include you?” She asked, adopting a small smile to her lips for his sake.

Cullen’s gaze refocused on her face and he returned a smile of his own, though there was no pleasure in it. “I’m afraid I’m already here.”

“Well then,” she murmured, “that world doesn’t sound so perfect to me.”

Cullen’s mirth might have broadened, or maybe she just wished it had. “I never said it was perfect,” he corrected, “only that you wouldn’t have to fight day after day.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I believe I’ll stay right here,” Cora declared softly. “Any world where I can’t have you is not somewhere I want to be.”

The palm of his other hand lifted to press to her cheek and, at last, the shadow of whatever worry had been plaguing him vanished, leaving only tender affection behind.

“I love you,” he whispered into the air between them, “more than I’ve loved anyone before.”

“And I love you,” she replied, tilting her face up as their brows pressed together, responding eagerly when his lips claimed hers. When finally she remembered herself enough to pull away, Cora retreated, stepping back a few paces as she smiled at her lover. “Will you be working all night?”

Cullen’s smile now definitively widened in earnest. “Not  _ all _ night.”

“Then I’ll see you when you’re through,” she promised, and departed Cullen’s office, grateful she had been able to ease his mind. The episodes he was prone to seemed to be diminishing, and he had actually been able to speak through this one. It would have lifted her spirits all the more had the strangest sensation not washed over her at the memory of his questions. 

_ A world without fighting? _

She could almost see it in her mind. Bright. Noisy. It felt so... familiar, like trying to call up the memory of a dream she had already forgotten. She knew she had known something about such an idea, had held an image of it in her mind once. But now it remained out of reach.

Her steps halted and she turned to face the stairs which would take her back to the ramparts again. Her thoughts spinning at the uneasy feeling that she had forgotten something very important.

Why had Cullen asked those questions? And why did they prick at her mind like they did?

She debated on going back to ask what it all meant. Her curiosity drove her to take a step towards the battlements before she caught herself and stopped. Reluctant but resolved, Cora returned to her prior path into the castle proper. 

Though his progress was clear, she knew that he was still struggling with his addiction, and with Samson now a permanent fixture in the Inquisition, Cullen would need now more than ever to see how far he had come. He would need every opportunity to contrast himself from the ruined man in their cells, and to see that with each day, he was separating himself further and further from lyrium while still maintaining his hold on himself. 

Cora would not give him any possible reason to doubt his success. Not for anything. 

Not even a long-forgotten dream.

XXXX


	11. Chapter 11:  Comfort

##  **Chapter 11: Comfort**

_ ‘Mia, _

_ I gave you my word that I would send a longer letter when there was time. I fear now must be that time.  _

_ Yes. Cora. And yes, I -  _ we _ \- are happy. But enough of this.  _

_ It is at her insistence that I write to you now. She will depart for the Valley of Sacred Ashes within the hour and, with the Maker’s blessing, to our final victory. _

_ In the event the opportunity does not present itself later, Cora asked I ensure you are aware of my sentiments, though I see little purpose in reminding you of what you already know. Yet, she is of the opinion that I could stand to speak them more to you.  _

_ If I am to be completely honest, there is no certainty of our success in the coming conflict. Perhaps she is correct to believe this may provide you comfort. _

_ ~~She is a remarkable woman, Mia. The thought that she may not~~ _

_ Forgive my frequent silences. They are not a reflection of your importance. Know that I love you, and please convey my love to Branson and Rosalie as well. _

_ With little else to bring solace, I have turned once more to my faith to guide me, for there is no darkness in the Maker’s light. I ask now for you to do the same, for the Inquisition, for myself, and for Cora. Pray that she returns to us safely and triumphant. I could not bear it otherwise. _

_ Your loving brother, _

_ Cullen’ _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A letter from brother to sister. Why? Because the world needs more Rutherford Sibling interactions of all kinds.


	12. Chapter 12:  Reckoning

##  **Chapter 12: Reckoning**

It was a vision beyond any nightmare she had ever experienced, made all the more horrific by the fact that it was real. Those soldiers who had not been slaughtered by the demons now prowling the landscape fell back at her command, the terror in their eyes palpable. At her back the tone of Varric’s quiet obscenity spoke more of his fear than any words he could have uttered; Dorian and Cassandra unchariceristically silent. 

A detached part of Cora’s awareness told her if she had any sense she would feel the same. Corypheus stood only a few dozen paces from her; the orb sparking a vile red in his clawed grasp. High above them the rift was growing wider with every passing second until it would inevitably engulfed the world. Much of the stonework - including the platform on which they stood - was already hovering in the air above the location where the temple once stood; pulled towards the tear in the sky with even larger fragments of debris rising progressively. It was enough to make even the stoutest of her allies balk. But against all reason Cora wasn’t frightened.

She was  _ fucking pissed _ . 

How dare he. How  _ fucking dare _ he hold an elven artifact in his hands and call her a thief! How dare he chase the Fade and the Golden City while simultaneously accusing her of wanting to be a god like him!  _ Like him!? _ A darkspawn, who held onto immortality not by divine right but through schemes no better than those of blood mages!

Along with the fury that gripped her, there was a sharper edge to Cora’s thoughts, one that drew her temper out all the more quickly. Her gaze kept snapping back to the orb. Looking at it only fed her ire and filled her mind with thoughts that seemed familiar, though so unlike her.

There was something waiting for her inside the orb. It reminded her of what she had felt when first waking in Haven after the conclave had fallen. She could not identify what the orb held; only that it promised her something. 

Safety? Home? It made no sense.

But there was no time to question the sensation plaguing her, for even before his litany against her had finished he began his assault on the Inquisitor’s party. Red beams of energy burst from the grotesque talons that had once been hands and reached for her and her allies, assaulting them with devastating power that knocked any they touched to their backs. Cora was immediately grateful it was these three friends accompanying her into battle. The four of them had learned each other's strengths and weaknesses early on; and now fell easily into the roles that best suited the group and supported their singular goal.

And when Corypheus’s pet appeared Cora didn’t even have to spare it a thought. Morrigan was there as she had promised; a dragon glowing golden in the sickly red and green whorling light. High over the battleground the titans clamored with each other, snarls and guttural cries filling the air. The sound was joined by a bellow ripped from Cassandra’s throat, one that filled Cora’s already furious mind with something exceedingly appreciated:

Murderous clarity.

The blonde took one step, then another, her steps blurring as she closed the distance between herself and the magister. From her ever changing vantage points Cora unleashed the full extent of her mage craft upon her nemesis. Without hesitation full faith was placed in her allies to rally each other and follow her as she chased the Magister through the wreckage of the once magnificent temple. Spells struck her in return, but she didn’t falter. Potions were swallowed only when her vision blurred too badly or her hands shook too violently to properly employ her spells.

Her charge was reckless and dangerous, and were this any other battle she could have imagined what Cullen might say about her actions. How her advisors would admonish her for risking too much where she should know better. 

But this was not any other battle. Though her armies lay leagues away, and all but a precious few of her most trusted allies were beyond reach, she was not ignorant of the fact that this was the final stand of the Inquisition.

Here and now,  _ she _ was the Inquisition. And she would not fail.

The orb caught her eye once more. 

Her mind stilled.

_ A black rectangle beneath her fingers, spread across her lap as she sat on a comfortable cushion. Upon its strange surface were small raised squares, each bearing letters and symbols upon their faces. It was across these squares that Cora’s fingers danced, though her eyes never once dropped to them. Her attention was fixed on what could only be described as a mirror that was not a mirror mounted above a low shelf before her. It glowed with a strange light as images whirled over its surface and the sound of battle filled the small, cozy room she sat in.  _

_ The mirror displayed this very battle, and with every square Cora’s fingers brushed over an image of herself in the mirror reacted. Spells were thrown, attacks dodged, and the view of her surroundings rotated and altered to encircle areas where magical energies would be centered. To one side portraits of her comrades, and another of a glowing hand, shifted between serenity and apparent grave injury as each member of the party came under attack. At one point the Inquisitor’s miniature image fell and was roused again by Dorian, but only when Cora herself took control of the Altus with the apparatus on her lap; moving him like a puppet on her strings.  _

_ The warring dragons plummeted back to the ground and the Inquisitor took up arms against the red lyrium riddled beast. Her fingers sped over the clicking slab across her lap furiously as wrecking wings and tearing claws harried Cassandra’s direct attacks, while the tainted energies it spewed forth chased down herself and her fellow ranged attackers. When at last the dragon was slain a gnarled mass of red light found its way back to Corypheus. _

_ ‘Fucking prick.’ _

_ The Inquisitor’s image turned towards the archway leading further into the ruins- _

Cora’s mind snapped back to the here-and-now; her thoughts scrabbling momentarily until one of Corypheus’s beams collided with her. Crimson light engulfed her as agony lanced through every bone in her body, until merciful nothingness took her. When next her eyes opened it was to the dark features of her Tevinter friend, his brow furrowed worriedly and one cheek bloodied with the remnants of a wound that has since been closed. “Can you stand?”

Cora blinked up at the mage above her, the taste of blood and healing potion pungent on her tongue. 

_ It was just as she had seen... _

“I’m going to fucking murder that son of a bitch,” she growled, the words flowing from her mouth almost instinctually. Dorian’s eyes widened for an instant at her outburst before narrowing in harmony with herself.

“Then get on with it already,” he bit back and stood, hoisting her to her feet.

In the chaos of battle she dared not give attention to wondering what it was she had just experienced and instead fought on steadily until the precise moment the vision had told her would deliver the dragons to them again. On impulse alone, she chose to believe in the events she had seen in that mirror, her order to scatter coming only a second before the thunderclap of draconic bodies colliding with the stone buried all other sound.

Cora’s heart thundered briefly with a sensation that had nothing to do with the danger of battle as she took in the sight of the arch dragon righting itself on the ground, and Morrigan’s human form retching blood onto the stone. 

_ It had happened! _

A face half-sunken and decaying with the Taint turned towards her, the wet rumbling from the dragon’s throat nearly a purr as it studied her.

It could be killed. It  _ had _ been killed.

She didn’t think - she simply acted; her fellows moving just as they had within the glowing mirror. The dragon was formidable, but now so were they. She was stronger than she had been at Haven - they all were. Bit by plodding bit they tore down its defenses while suffering their own blows, the fight dragging on interminably. 

At long last the dragon lunged towards Cora. A glow, matching that of the red lyrium surrounding them, grew beyond its gaping fangs and down the serpentine throat, only to be snuffed out by Cassandra’s waiting sword as it plunged into the massive neck set before her. A shill cry of death filled their ears and without ceremony Corypheus took back the power he had housed within the behemoth.

_ At last.. _

She ignored his litany of threats and condemnations as her feet carried her up the last flights of stairs to the tower on which the Magister made his final stand. Upon a dias of stone set within four pillars the darkspawn lunatic presided, his prize clutched tightly in his skeletal claw. She would not hold back. She would-

_ Crackling blades of corrupt lightning sheared the path before the darkspawn and the Inquisitor doubled over in pain at the blast, though she actually felt nothing. Cora was disconnected once more, sitting cross-legged upon the same sofa with the black panel stretched across her thighs. Fingers tapped the same pattern of squares relentlessly, and she watched the miniature of herself swallow a healing potion - the last, she knew. ‘Fuck,’ her own voice filled her ears, louder than the sound of battle in the plainly furnished room. But it didn’t matter. The red bar at the top of the mirror told Cora all that she needed to know. Just another hit and he would be dead. _

_ A bolt from Bianca answered her thought, and the image on the pane before her flicked to a view of Corypheus as he battled for control of the orb. Cora’s mark flared a brilliant green across the entirety of the mirror as the woman it belonged to rose up from her knee; hand outstretched towards the one who threatened everything.  _

_ ‘Suck on this, Coryphishit!’ _

Jarred, Cora blinked and found herself rooted in reality as unrestrained corruption scissored towards her; slicing through her and bringing about a screaming agony her throat could not give enough voice to, as she collapsed to the crumbling platform. Her hands trembled as they reached for her pouch to retrieve a potion, finding only one glass vial remained.

Whether she fumbled with the cork so badly out of pain or the now growing fear that something ominous was playing out, she couldn’t say. But it took longer by half to pry the bottle open and drain its contents down her throat.

“I gotcha boss!” Varric’s cry from behind her right shoulder struck her oddly - as if she had listened to the same vow only a moment before. The whistle of the bolt trilled passed her ear and before her eyes Corypheus staggered; the glow surrounding his hand becoming erratic. He was losing control. 

Pleas to the ancient ones poured from his grotesque lips, just as they had in the mirror. 

And Cora realized that whatever was happening, whatever these visions, they weren’t dangerous. Whether magical or divine, she didn’t care anymore. Something was showing her the way, and Cora would be damned if she’d ignore it! The mark across her palm sparked to life at her command, its light swirling over knuckles and between fingers, charging her skin unpleasantly but tolerably.

Lifting herself to her feet - the act tearing a path of fire across her stomach - the Inquisitor stood and extended her hand before her, watching as the energies of the Fade began swirling over the orb the Magister clung to desperately. The pull was immeasurable, she could feel it nearly wrenching her from her feet with its power. Bracing herself Cora’s fingers flexed as she threw caution aside and willed the power in her grasp to grow.

Stone bathed in green light was forcibly plucked from his grip by her call, the sphere colliding with a face distorted by red lyrium as it passed before striking Cora’s hand forcibly. The sphere was unnaturally warm to the touch and she opened her fingers, allowing the artifact to hover over her palm for a moment.

_ Towers as tall as mountains, their faces shimmering with glass in the setting sun. Noise as monotonous as the winds atop Skyhold filled her ears, growing more familiar by the second. The scent of exotic foods mingled and filled her nose tantalizing. Red, green and yellow lights atop poles blinked at her in pattern; her mind recalling that they signaled a passage of sorts.  _

_ She knew this place… knew it better than her own chambers at Skyhold. Around two corners there was a door that led to a shop which boasted food like none other. The door behind her - if one could call the spinning machination a door - would take her to the strange moving box that would lift her up to the room with the mirror which had displayed the battle. And her feet could remember a route to another building, another room, so disorderly and chaotic, yet as familiar and dear to her as this place, as was its inhabitant.  _

_ She could stay here if she did not fight it… if she just allowed herself to forget about- _

With a strength of will she had never had to employ before Cora’s awareness snapped back to reality by her own choice. No. Not now. She couldn’t forget. She wouldn’t. The Fade was within the orb; tied to it; part of it. She could feel it, as real and tangible as the power against her palm and the clothes against her body. As real as the rift in the sky above. Without words it whispered to her; would draw her in if she would not resist. It called to her with more appeal than when she had undergone her Harrowing. It was more real to her now than when she had walked the Fade in her physical form. It would claim her if she allowed it. But she resisted. She was not some weak apprentice.

Without thought she knew what to do.

Her head tilted up, Corypheus momentarily forgotten, Cora thrust the orb over her head and allowed the power to travel through her like a conduit, up into the clouds and the hole in the sky. It rose like a pillar, glowing nearly white with its intensity as she struggled to maintain her hold while her heart nearly broke free of her breast as she fought. It felt simultaneously like a second and an eternity, and when it was done her arm dropped to her side; the orb falling to her feet like nothing more than a lump of plain ore.

Stonework which had been levitating now began to fall back to the ground around them, but at present the only thing that existed for the young mage was the monster kneeling before her feet, his jaw clearly shattered and a dazed expression in his soulless eyes.

The mark flared at her command and Cora used its power to lift him bodily from the ground. Though he resisted physically Corypheus employed no magic in his own defense. It was as she thought, Cora realized with a smirk. He was done.

“You wanted into the Fade?” She taunted, unable to hold back the malevolent grin on her face, hoping that he understood what was happening. What was about to happen. “You should have  _ fucking asked nicely _ .” 

It was so very satisfying to watch the agony well up in his disgusting features as she opened the rift within his chest cavity. To watch the light of it bleed out through his eyes; watch as his torso began to glow, outlining his ribcage clearly, as the Fade consumed him from within. 

With every ounce of vindictive spite she possessed Cora held the mark back, preventing the rift from consuming him too quickly. She wanted the bastard to suffer. He needed to feel this for as long as possible. After all of the death he had caused, all of the fear and the pain he had inflicted, he needed to experience as much of his own as possible before she released him. 

Only when his arms separated from his body and his skeleton began to vaporize did Cora’s restraint falter. Releasing the dam of self-control she let loose the power within her. The rift exploded out from the Magister’s body violently before collapsing back in, pulling Corypheus with it and leaving only the faint puff of disturbed dust in its wake.

Before she could savor her victory a steel-trap grip caught her arm and her eyes lifted to find Cassandra on the other end of it. “We must move!” The Seeker’s warning was inaudible and unnecessary, however. The remaining masonry once hovering above now shattered upon the rocks surrounding them, with the growing shadow of colossal chunks darkening precisely where they stood. 

As one the Inquisitor’s inner circle hurtled themselves out of the path of the largest debris, scattering in every direction at once. Throwing herself to the ground beside one of the larger stone columns, the wound at Cora’s stomach laced fresh fingers of fire through her upon impact; her arms wrapped over her head as she tensed and waited.

Silence came at long last, and it took more effort than it should have for Cora to push herself from the stonework and stagger to her feet; the pain in her abdomen nearly forgotten as she twisted to peer up at the scar that was left in the sky. Blue wisps of light now dusted feather-soft tendrils against the clouds, where moments ago the rift had threatened everything. 

It was over.

Soft footfalls at her back caught her attention and she turned to find a familiar figure kneeling in the place she had made her last stand. Apprehension filled her - why had  _ he _ come alone? Without hesitation Cora tried to reach for the knowing that had aided her during the battle and found nothing. She tried again. 

Gone.

“Solas,” her call was quiet as she tried to mask the distrust that swelled within her. She had never trusted the man, but she’d nearly always given him the cooperation she had needed from him in turn. Civility was better than nothing, after all.

No spoken reply came, rather slender fingers rose before the hermit and Cora saw over his shoulder a half-moon piece of stone held gently in his grasp.

“The orb,” he murmured softly, almost sadly.

The decent part of Cora knew that she should try to console him out of courtesy, or inquire as to if the orb could be mended. It was of the elves, and she knew how dearly he held certain aspects of elven heritage - the oldest pieces at least. 

And the thought of possibly mending the orb did hold a certain appeal to her. While she was aware of having been shown things that resonated within her deeply, the images themselves were rapidly fading in a haze of forgetfulness. Part of her already regretted the loss of the knowledge those visions had promised, but the rational part of her knew it was foolish to long for things of the Fade. Such temptation was a dangerous thing - especially for a mage. 

No, the orb was gone and it was for the best. Now if only this disjointed feeling it had left with her would vanish as well.

“Corypheus is dead,” she said a bit petulantly instead, trying to gather her senses, “don’t forget what’s important.”

“Yet so much has been lost,” came his reply and Cora bristled. She wanted to believe he meant lives, families, an entire village, but she knew better. People didn’t matter to Solas like they did to others. She couldn’t imagine his lament was for those who died as a result of Corypheus’s actions, not when he spoke, and not when he turned and placed on her a gaze that radiated regret.

“What aren’t you telling me?” She asked. Her stomach was screaming in pain again and her thoughts were ever scattered. But she couldn’t allow that to distract her. Something important was happening here. Something...

Solas’s features were uncharacteristically sad as he shook his head. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” he breathed and Cora’s skin immediately began to crawl. Whatever he was talking about she doubted very much it signified anything she’d approve of. “No matter what comes, I want you to know you shall always have my respect.”

It felt like goodbye, and the thought troubled her more than his presence. He could not be allowed to leave - if he left it would only invite…  _ something _ . Desperately she clawed through her mind for a remnant vision that would explain everything, knowing perfectly well that the shattered orb at Solas’ feet could no longer give her what she wanted.

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra’s voice called from the stone wreckage at her back. “Are you alive?” Cora turned briefly to find her companions emerging from outside the temple; soldiers and the other members of her chosen companions emerging from beyond the broken walls. Voices called up to her, accolades and praises to the Maker for their success and her survival, as well as requests for guidance and instruction. 

Cora turned from the revelers briefly, and found the space at her back empty. Whatever his intent, Solas was out there in the world, separate from her Inquisition…

...for reasons she could not fathom, the thought filled her with nothing but dread.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra repeated slowly, aware that Cora’s nerves had not eased in spite of their victory, “what do we do?”

The blonde woman sighed and steadied herself; pressing a hand to her wound to dull the rising throb there. Like at Haven, her thoughts were fragmented. But now she knew what -  _ who _ \- could put her nerves right again. 

And she knew where she would find him.

“We go back to Skyhold.”

XXXX

A voice rose up sharply from the ramparts and Cullen’s ears pricked; the call nearly lost beneath the constant drone of hundreds of conversations emanating from the courtyard. From the other side of the landing Josephine’s eyes caught his and she seemed to hold her breath with him. Cullen’s hand lifted in an unspoken call for silence, and readily the inhabitants of Skyhold heeded the command. Once more the voice from the heights rose up; the guard stationed to watch waving a gauntleted hand high above his head.

“They’re back! Open the gates!” 

Voices erupted in a cacophony of cheers, drowning out the clatter of chains as the gates were lifted. Beyond the outer walls night had swallowed the mountain, leaving those bathed in torchlight within to squint into the darkness as they waited. 

After what seemed an eternity the blonde figure of the Inquisitor marched into the castle and the noise of the revelers redoubled. If any but Cullen noticed the blood on the heroes' clothes, the broken head of the Inquisitor’s staff, or the way she held her torso just a little too stiffly, it was not mentioned. Even at this distance the smile of barely contained joy painting her face was easily noticed, as was the way her eyes positively danced.

Cullen’s heart threatened to burst from his chest.

_ She had done it! _

Cora wasted no time in ascending the steps to the landing where her advisors waited to greet her, and as one they bowed to their Inquisitor. Their savior. Their friend.

His beloved. 

If there was ever an appropriate time to dispense with formalities now was the occasion, and happily Cullen closed the distance between himself and Cora, taking her into his arms and pulling her close. Her slender frame shuddered slightly, and he hesitated only a moment before her arms tightened around him as she buried her face into his mantle. For as long as he dared Cullen held her in his arms, until she finally pulled away, a playful wink as she released him promising him that was not the last of the affection he would see from her. He was certain that he could not have stopped smiling if the Maker himself descended from his throne and commanded it. The gossips would undoubtedly have a fit with this, yet for once the thought failed to rattle him.

Together the Inquisitor and her advisors turned their attention on the gathering below the ramparts. Familiar faces dotted the crowd, and Cora took a moment to gaze about herself; the wonder in her expression clear. Her hand had not yet passed her shoulder when her command for silence was obeyed. For a moment silence reigned in the clearing until at last the Inquisitor’s voice rose up, her palm held up to the sky, where a faint blue glow served as a reminder of the threat they had stood against.

And when her voice at last filled his ears it filled his heart as well.

XXXX

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was primarily Cora-centric, yes. But it had to be. Because in order to see what's going on in Cora's head you have to be in her POV. And her head was chaotic. Disjointed. As was my writing style here to an extent (I hope.) I try to give a taste of what their current head status is in my writing style. Maybe it works and maybe it doesn't. But it's fun to write more often than not.
> 
> This is not the end. Of course there's more!


	13. Chapter 13:  Blessing

##  **Chapter 13: Blessing**

_‘Mia,_

_Yes, I am writing first. No, there is no cause for worry._

_We depart for the Exalted Council tomorrow. More politics. Maker, I deplore them. But Cora has an aptitude for these dealings which I do not. Whatever happens, I have faith in her abilities._

_But that is not the reason for my letter._

_When the council is over, regardless of the outcome, I intend to ask for her hand. I tell you now because I know if you were to learn of my intent afterward, I would never hear the end of it. I do not know what the future holds for us, only that I can’t imagine a life without her._

_If she’ll have me, I will bring Cora when next I come to visit, which will be soon, I promise. I want so much for you to meet her, Maker willing as my wife._

_Only, I ask you keep the embarrassing stories to a minimum, if you would. If I am by some miracle fortunate enough to win her, you’ll have the rest of our lives to share them with her._

_I will write once I have asked and been answered, so please have mercy on my nerves and refrain from writing to inquire if it’s done. Maker knows the days until then will be long enough as it is._

_Your loving brother,_

_Cullen’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that the Rutherford siblings (Mia to Cullen mostly) wrote to each other more than the few snippets we saw in the game. And I love their back-and-forths when they do. I feel like Cora's influence might have eventually spurred Cullen into writing more frequently than his prior annual-ish messages to his siblings saying that he was alive.
> 
> Plus he really had every cause to worry about Mia's reaction if he just popped home one day with a wife in tow and no notice.


	14. Chapter 14:  Plans

##  **Chapter 14: Plans**

Maker, he was utterly hopeless. Give him a battle, a tense stand-off; at this point even a political tete-tete would be welcome, Andraste preserve him. At least in those situations he knew what was expected, and required to walk away victorious. But here, with row upon row of shining bauble resting atop purple velvet staring at him, Cullen knew he stood no chance.

Among the pieces, only one seemed a suitable candidate. It bore only a fraction of the gaudy eccentricity which the others had been clearly designed to flaunt, and seemed small enough despite all its glittering to be considered some-what practical to wear upon her finger instead of adorning the head of her staff. It wasn’t his ideal of what he considered lovely, but short of traveling all the way to Denerim for something more tasteful, it was so far proving to be his best option. Cullen hardly had any idea of what would be worthy of gracing Cora’s finger permanently, but wondered at this being it. Carefully he leaned down to peer at its bedecked face more closely; not wanting to ask for it to be removed in case the shop owner decided a purchase was being made. 

"You’re not seriously considering buying her that hideous symbol of pretension and future infidelity, are you?"

In all of the noise of the market the click of the bootheels at his back had failed to catch his attention, and Cullen startled, turning to find the bronze face of his beloved’s dear friend peering at him with mischievous delight. "I- future what?" Dorian’s responding chuckle brought a flood of heat to Cullen’s face and the Commander returned a scowl that clearly did nothing to intimidate.

"Maker, could you have picked anything more tacky?"

Cullen had not cared much for the ring either, but he still disliked the idea of being ridiculed. "And what exactly would you consider a better choice?"

"Oh my friend,” the mage placed a friendly hand on golden silk pauldron of Cullen’s dress coat, “clearly you are in desperate need of help. Lucky for you, I am here to save you from certain marital doom. You are aiming for a ‘yes’ when you drop to one knee and profess your eternal love, yes? 

“But before we begin with any of this,” dark fingers waved elegantly over the trays of rings that had been brought out for Cullen to view without waiting for a response to his clearly rhetorical question, “I feel that it must first be said that, if after four years of being with her you still believe that she requires such a show, I have no choice but to believe that the lyrium actually damaged your mind."

" _ Dorian. _ " The name growled through clenched teeth and a glare that could have cut glass was more courtesy than he’d give most. Yet Dorian had, by association, grown as comfortable with Cullen as he was with their renowned leader. Rather than appearing nervous, or even properly abashed for the jab given in poor taste, Dorian instead bestowed a look of what could be considered affection on the Commander.

"I’m simply saying that she doesn't need some expensive show of an offer,” he said softly, imperiously waiving off the jeweler who now clearly saw his sale under threat and was attempting to interject his own sentiments. “She only wants you, and that has always been the way of it.” The glimmer returned to the dark eyes before him then, and the Altus pressed his palm into the shoulder he still clutched, attempting to steer Cullen away. 

“So,” the mage went on with his usual humor, “whatever fortune you plan on dropping on this lavish, out of character nonsense you've concocted, I would advise you to stop and reconsider. Do something more like… well…  _ you _ ."

Cullen allowed himself to be turned from the display case, and ignored the jeweler’s increasingly desperate calls as he considered. “More like me.”

The hand at his shoulder clapped his back cheerily. “Now you have it! Take her to that little country lake of yours. Drink bad ale and tell her stories of your two dozen siblings. I don’t know why, but she positively eats those up. Maker, I know enough about Mia and her meddling to know that I’m grateful to be an only child, and you’ve never mentioned a word to me of any of it.”

It should have rankled Cullen to hear Dorian speak of his sister in such a way, but somehow it only succeeded in instilling a blossom of hope within him. Cora enjoyed his stories of his family. She liked them so much she retold them after.

The extravagant dinner he had reserved. The wine he had asked Leliana to recommend (who then took it upon herself to have two bottles hunted down.) The musician who he had heard was the best and played at many a private party for noble engagements.

Why had he felt any of that necessary?

Of course he knew why. She was Cora. She had saved the world, and had saved him from himself. She deserved nothing short of the best. But what she deserved, and what she wanted, were two different things. She wanted Cullen, and all the simplicity that came with him.

And all the nonsense. 

_ Nonsense... _

He’d been infuriated with Mia when he’d received her response to the letter he had written informing her of his intent. It had come back with the same messenger his letter to her had gone out with, and before the party even had a chance to leave Skyhold. That it had been packed away to him in a small chest had saved her from an angry return at having ignored his request for time. For within the chest had been a box containing his mother’s gold wedding band as well as Mia’s note:

_ ‘Don’t send it back. We all agree it should go to you. _

_ From what I’ve heard of her, your beloved is no fool. Please bring our new sister to meet us as soon as you can be spared. _

_ I’m so happy for you, Cullen. Both of you. _

_ Your loving sister, _

_ Mia.’ _

At first he had dismissed the idea of giving his mother’s ring to Cora. While sturdy enough, it held no gems or engravings on it that he felt a ring fit for his beloved should bear.

But Dorian’s words now had him rethinking that idea. She had turned his coin into a pendant. A simple, old coin now hung from her neck like a precious jewel. Cora didn’t need finery. She wanted what was important to Cullen. His mother’s ring was more than important to him; it was practically sacred. Without thought he pulled the band from his pocket; having been too concerned for its safety to leave it unattended in his tent. From around his shoulder Dorian eyed the band skeptically.

“Not one word.” Cullen said darkly. “It was my mother’s.” To his surprise the dark features beside him split into a warm smile.

“There. Was that so hard?”

Cullen ran a leather clad thumb over the dulled surface.  _ A bit of polish… perhaps an engraving on the inside… _

XXXX

_ “Marry me.” _

_ The words emanated from the tiny window in her hand, and though the sound was slightly distorted the voice was unmistakable. _

_ “Was that… me?” _

_ Cora had blushed furiously and had stammered out a quick explanation without actually answering the question before bringing an abrupt end to the conversation. But nothing she did or didn’t say could mask the truth that Cora had in her possession a copy of his voice proposing marriage. _

And now he knew from where. The words had slipped free of his lips before he even realized they were there, and it wasn’t until they had been spoken that he made the connection. The tone, the cadence, they were the same. Cora had captured his voice from this moment and had taken it with her to Chicago.

He only wished he knew how she had answered then.

Much like she had in her living room in another time and another world, Cullen began to prattle on an explanation as to why she was now receiving a proposal in such a way. There had been a plan! But in one thoughtless moment it was gone and Maker, he hadn’t even made it through the council!

Still, they could make it work. If only she-

“I - yes!” Her voice interrupted him, loudly and with more enthusiasm than he had hoped for. “Of course I will.”

“You will.” Part of him couldn’t believe she’d accept him. But a larger part, one that had simply been quieter than his nerves up to that point, had known all along what her answer would be. She would accept his proposal because she already had, months ago - perhaps even years ago. When the world was dark and the sky was torn and there was no guarantee there would be a tomorrow for any of them. They had known then what they had wanted, even if neither of them ever breathed a word of it.

Now that they knew that tomorrow was there and marriage was possible, they would only need to employ help from a few willing friends to see to the rest without raising the eyebrows and tempers of the entire council. The names didn’t even need to be spoken between them. 

Of course she had said yes. Because it was too perfect for it to be any other way.

The mabari at his hip barked again and Cora laughed. 

“What’s his name?”

Cullen blinked, unprepared for their conversation to take the turn it had, though in truth she had only brought them back round full circle. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” he admitted. 

The smile lighting Cora’s features was positively intoxicating. “Ah yes. Conduct battle drills and propose marriage, but forget that this poor pup still needs a name.”

Another happy bark from the dog and Cullen smiled. “I believe he’s decided ‘Pup’ will do.”

“Pup, is it?” Cora lowered herself to one knee and the dog turned an enthusiastic tongue on her. “Well then Pup, it seems you’re part of this conspiracy now. I trust you’ll help us keep our secret.”

A slobbering tongue dragged up her neck and jawline but Cora only laughed and reached to scratch the dog’s neck.

And here Cullen hadn’t thought his heart could melt any more than it had.

XXXX

In the end, no one attended the ceremony. Not Dorian, or Josephine, or even Cassandra - rather, Divine Victoria - for all of her romantic mooning. Mother Giselle officiated and Pup stood as their only witness.

Cullen couldn’t have asked for more.

He valued their friends, truly, but he was grateful their marriage was to be a secret. Others would want to offer well wishes, or worse, bring politics into it. Cullen wanted nothing beyond having the woman he loved to himself. If he was to be selfish with her just once, it would be in this and this alone.

They hadn’t even waited a day. A lovely, secluded corner of the grounds was chosen, and Cullen left to find Josephine to help with the arrangements while Cora went off in search of a gown. She would have a gown, she announced when Cullen tried to tell her that it wasn’t necessary. She would not be married as the Inquisitor, she insisted, but as Cora.

Cullen elected to wear his uniform. She had designed it after all. He would have worn the golden hose with it if she had asked, as long as the sun set with him having given her his name.

But when she at last arrived at the agreed upon gazebo Cullen was grateful Cora had stubbornly set her mind on a bridal gown. Her hair had not been styled beyond its typical knot at the base of her neck, and she wore no jewels beyond the coin pendant at her neck. But in the white gown Dorian had procured for her, she was a vision of beauty he hoped to remember always. 

And when his mother’s ring slipped onto her finger as though it had been sized for her all along Cullen felt it to be another sign that what they were doing was right.

Now, if only in secret, she was no longer Trevelyan but Cora Rutherford. The sound of that made his chest swell with joy. Someday, hopefully soon, they would no longer have to hide it. But for now, this was enough.

XXXX

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting chapters. COVID has made family life interesting. Between bringing home our nephew who just finished his term with the Navy and is now across the country going to college, starting my son's school year from home (no less than the next semester) and training in my new job from home, it's been interesting! 
> 
> So let's binge-post a few chapters as an apology for the wait, yes?


	15. Chapter 15:  Lost

##  **Chapter 15: Lost**

It was beyond horrific, and Dorian had been witness to some spectacular specimens of horror over the last few months. Most recently was the green light that had once slashed the Inquisitor’s palm with a gentle glow; now crackling up her wrist towards her elbow like a bolt on lightning tearing a path through her flesh. He had managed to put aside his trepidation, however, in order to take a knee before his friend, lifting said arm within his own hands to examine it closely, noting that the skin was hot to the touch but caused no pain to him personally. Whatever the mark was doing it inflicted on Cora alone.

“It’s not quieting,” he muttered tersely, more to himself than anyone, “why is it still so volatile?”

“He… said he fixed it,” she panted, her face pale and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. When they had found her she had been kneeling alone on the dirt, beyond a courtyard of living statues. Her posture had since changed and Cora now slumped heavily over a large grey piece of broken masonry when not in the throes of agony. Small stilted accounts had told the Altus and their companions all that they needed to know of what had taken place before they had found her. But things like the Dread Wolf and a possible genocide of humanity would have to wait. For now it honestly seemed as though his friend might be dying, and in Dorian’s opinion that took priority over the rest of the lot.

“Fixing things usually makes them less scary,” Varric’s voice was somber and low, and not untouched by fear. “And your mark is definitely making my skin crawl, boss.”

Another hoarse cry tore from her throat as the mark pulsed at her arm, the tendrils snaking out of the already thick green veins of light until nearly the entirety of the appendage below the elbow was aglow. Cerulean eyes rolled in her skull until he thought with increasing dread that she might actually lose consciousness. But, by virtue of her willful tenacity alone, she held to her awareness.

Dorain’s heart bled for her; damn the woman for making him care as he did! “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I’m beginning to think he never intended to save the limb.” With what was apparently no small amount of effort, glazed eyes lifted to his.

“The mark…” she murmured, and Dorian felt her make a pathetic attempt to tug the glowing terror back to herself.

“Is killing you,” he finished gently, but firmly. Cora’s head lolled in what Dorian took as a concentrated effort to shake her head. “If what you say is true about what he had tried to use that orb for, and what he plans to do next, I doubt he wanted you to keep this.”

Cora’s head pulled upright with a snap, like that of a child trying not to fall asleep in a lecture. “He... fixed…”

“He  _ lied _ .” Dorian barked; his agitation growing with each second he had to watch her suffer. Gingerly the Altus lifted her arm before her eyes. “What about this seems better to you? Yes it’s contained to your forearm, but for how long?” In spite of his anger, his fingers slid gently over her elbow to her shoulder before moving further to stroke her hair. His demeanor calmed in spite of his agitation; she didn’t deserve this. And he couldn’t blame her, even now, for holding onto hope. “We’re out of time, my friend. I won’t risk your life on the promise of someone who intends to see us all dead.”

“N-” another gasp cut her words off as another flare overtook her hand, casting a sickly green glow on their surroundings. This time, when the glare subsided, the Inquisitor’s brow dropped gently to the stone she leaned against. Dorian could not withhold the sharp intake of breath that bespoke the terror swelling in his heart.

“Amatus,” he called, irritated that his voice quavered. “We need your blade.”

From behind his catatonic friend, the Bull’s own surprise was evident even if Dorian didn’t raise eyes to him. “Shit. You’re serious.”

“Unless you have another option?”

The click of a large pommel sliding free from its braces was immediate, followed by the deep voice of the qunari, dropped even lower still. “Not a one.”

Dorian’s attention shifted to their literary friend. “Varric?”

The stout man shook his head, his hand lifting to perform its characteristic shrug. But instead of dropping the appendage, the gesture then carried the appendage upward; gloved hand over his mouth and jawline. The fear in those typically twinkling, conniving eyes only solidifying Dorian’s own dread. “I…  _ shit _ .”

Then it was decided. With hands gentler than he was certain he had ever used to touch anything in his life, Dorian shifted his grip to Cora’s ruined hand alone, where he slid the precious gold band from her finger, tucking it into one of his breast pockets snugly. If Cora had noticed that her wedding ring had been taken from her she never stirred to protest.

Without hesitating the massive axe hefted to perch upon Bull’s shoulder; the mercenary pausing long enough to situate Cora’s petite frame so that she leaned against Dorian. Her befouled arm was stretched over the rock before her, and the fabric and leather covering her arm removed, ensuring a ‘cleaner cut.'

Dorain’s arms encircled his friend, his hand cradling her head to his shoulder as though to shield her from what was to come. Beyond her still frame the sound of fabric tearing caught his attention, and Dorian spared only enough attention to see that Varric was tearing strips of cloth from the sleeve from his own shirt; a bolt from Bianca’s arsenal clenched in his teeth. It was with scathing irritation for himself that he silently praised Varric’s forethought for a tourniquet. Andraste’s ass, Dorian was in such a hurry to see Cora removed from the threat, that he hadn’t thought about what would be required after! Quickly he began mentally sifting through the spells at his disposal, searching for any that might help staunch the bleeding or ease her pain when it was done.

True to form, there were no requests to reconsider from his beloved; only a short command for Dorian to hold her. The mage’s hands tightened on the blonde head against him as the heavy whistle of the blade slicing through the air above Bull’s head filled the clearing; the slightly wet sound of the task completed nearly obliterated by the clang of metal striking the stone beneath.

The piercing scream that came after was one Dorian would likely never forget; ripped from Cora’s lungs and shredding her throat as it tore free. Nor should he be able to escape the memory; it had been his idea after all. If she would live with the scars of his decision for the rest of her life, he could too. No matter that his would be invisible.

XXXX

Cullen had admittedly never been glad of the spirit Cora had recruited into their fold, and now more than anything he loathed the presence of the man at his side. Yet more than Cole’s presence, he feared the thought of not knowing what was taking place, and for that he needed the spirit - the  _ boy _ \- here.

She was in pain. Suffering. “Fire. Venom. Is there worse?  _ This _ .” Cole’s voice rambled on at his side and Cullen’s teeth clenched so forcefully that he could hear them creaking in his skull. “He said he fixed it.” Cole continued, clearly speaking the thoughts of another. “He lied. Because he thinks I’ll be dead anyway? Fuck him! When I find that fucker-”

“Can you find her, Cole?” Cullen asked, unlocking his jaw so he could form the question. The colorful choice of language was not uncommon for Cora to use when truly agitated. And while others in her entourage might be just as comfortable with profanity, the curses had the distinct cadence of being his wife’s. “Can you take us to her?”

“No time,” Cole prattled, “look at her. Look at  _ it _ . It’s  _ killing _ her.” It wasn’t Cora any longer, but it was clear the person Cole now recited from spoke of her - and the words sent a shaft of fear induced weakness down his spine. “This is beyond my skills. I can’t help - Maker I can’t help her.” The wide brim of Cole’s hat shifted as his head perked up slightly. “But  _ I  _ can help. Cullen, I can stop the hurting. Stop the pain.”

Fear surged through Cullen’s stomach, twisting and surging through his body. “No-”

His denial, however, had fallen on deaf ears. “I can help but she won’t let me,” Cole’s head shook, “doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want their help either. She’s hurting. Screaming. Tired. They’re moving her now; going to help. To save her. But she fights them. Or wants to. She needs the pain. It will save us all. Don’t touch me! No, Dorian. Tell him to stop! Damn you, tell him to-” Cole’s recital ended, and his voice dropped. “There’s so much blood. Bless you, Varric, at least someone has their wits. Where did he learn to do that?”

“Cora’s blood?” Cullen demanded, and he reached for the spirit, feeling hands at his arms, pulling him back. Josephine’s voice was distantly calling for healers, while Leliana was at his ear, but he dismissed both entirely; too intent on the only link he had to his wife at that moment to give the Spymaster’s words any thought. “What happened? What have they done?!” Cole was switching perspectives, it seemed, but it was difficult to tell whose. “Where’s the Inquisitor, Cole?”

“She’s quiet, dim,” the pale creature managed to form an actual answer, at last. “Guttering. Sinking. Different. She doesn’t feel like home anymore. I can help; stop the hurting and make it easier for her. It’s happening without me. But even dim she fights me. I only want to help but she pushes me away. They didn’t listen. They helped. She doesn’t want any more. Doesn’t want me. I have to listen. She hurts and fades, but I’ll hurt her more if I help.”

It was all Cullen could do to remain upright. For what felt like hours, but was likely less than one in reality, the eluvian glowed gently before him without disruption. Cole’s strange reports became less frequent; and towards the end he only murmured urgent pleas Cullen took to be Dorian and Varric wishing their own legs could move faster.

By the time the colors began to churn and signal the opening of the door Josephine had gathered a small army of mages trained in healing, and arranged for a secure location for treatment.

The Altus was the first to stumble through the opening, bloodied, frantic, and barreling straight into Cullen’s chest. “Call a healer!” Dorian panted, brown eyes completely rimmed in white staring desperately up into the Commander’s face. “It’s Cora.”

Adrenaline answered the call for action within him, and Cullen lifted the man to his feet with relative ease. “Where is she?”

“With Bull,” Dorian gasped, a shaking hand pointing to the mirror as he struggled to catch his breath, “he’s bringing her. I could run faster - went on ahead. To call for help. Varric has-”

A concussion of noise erupted from behind his friend and the massive body of the Tal-Vashoth ripped through the portal, the Inquisitor’s pale form curled in his arms.

Or most of it. 

Cullen forgot to breathe. Where once her left arm had been, now there was only a deeply stained strip of red fabric tied and splinted around the ending that had been her elbow; Varric visibly missing a sleeve when he finally fell through the mirror a moment later.

Josephine was spluttering out a question for the Altus as Cullen discarded Dorian to reach The Bull’s charge. What the question had been was lost on Cullen, though.

“You don’t want that answer now,” Dorian’s reply was clear enough that it broke through the haze of Cullen’s panic, who watched as the mages bundled his wife into blankets while assessing her injuries. “Get us to a secured location and I’ll tell you all of it.”

“They’re taking her to the Inquisition tents outside the city, Cullen.” Leliana said pointedly, taking him by the arm when Cullen seized one of the mages who was trying to spirit his wife away. “Our men can secure that location better than her rooms in the palace. Dorian, will you and the others accompany us?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Dorian said, standing, “it saves me the trouble of having to force my way after her.”

XXXX

Watching Cora suffer had been dread-inducing. Seeing their stalwart Commander sitting at her bedside now, broken with worry, was devastating. Despair creased every line on Cullen’s face and created more lines still that accentuated the shine of his typically dry eyes. 

In such cases where fear or misery threatened to choke the life from his throat, Dorian would often retreat to glib comments or a sharp tongue, as the situation called for. But here, with his dearest friend lying on a healer’s cot, the flat plane of the blankets beside her left hip offering testimony to what she had endured, he could summon neither.

The concentrated effort of the healers had dragged on into the night, with all but Cullen waiting outside the glowing tent for news. Cora’s husband would not be pried from her presence, and he alone was allowed to occupy the tent while the mages worked. Her survival had by no means been a certainty, and during their wait Bull had actually begged Cassandra for a beating with a stick before, after numerous refusals, settling for retreating to the tavern where he would undoubtedly drink himself into oblivion. He had invited Dorian to join him, yet while the Altus longed to comfort his amatus he also needed to remain close to Cora. If she didn’t… if he had… he needed to be there. To know. One way or another.

Only when the mages had emerged and declared, wearily, that they believed she would live did Dorian press for entry. And while it was true that others in attendance might have had priority to see her, such as her advisors, he had selfishly pushed his way to the fore of the group to be the first. He had to know she was all right. That she would live. That his decision hadn’t destroyed her.

Though the truth of that was yet to come. She was still unconscious, after all.

The sight of the typically lively woman upon entry had closed his throat completely; though she had looked far worse on their dash back through the maze. Cora lay still and drawn against the blankets of her tiny cot, her blonde locks fanned out beneath her head uncharacteristically as she slept. It almost seemed like a betrayal of its own to see her in such a state. Dorian was half tempted to reapply her hair into its bun for the sake of her own sense of propriety, though it would hardly be comfortable for her in her current position.

Instead he took up the stool on the other side of the cot from the anguished husband, feeling the weight of his decision strike him in the chest. Where Cullen’s grip was carefully wrapped around slack fingers atop the blanket, there was no appendage before Dorian which he could hold to for comfort. Instead, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the gold band he had safeguarded there, lying it carefully on the white cover spread over Cora’s chest.

“She’ll want this back,” he said softly. A moment passed before one large hand released its careful hold and slid forward, curling around the ring without a word spoken. Silence reigned over them within the canvas walls, but only for a short time.

“She didn’t want this.” Cullen’s voice was a whisper, but as hard and cold as if it had been a death sentence. “And you didn’t listen.”

Dorian didn’t have to ask. Cole had been at the eluvian when he had burst through, and had also been among those waiting outside of the tents while the healers had worked to save their Inquisitor. It was easy enough to deduce what Cullen had been privy to during his wait for their return. They had all listened as the boy quietly droned on during Cora’s time with the healers; filling the somber air with the secret thoughts of everyone in attendance until Varric had wisely ushered him away.

“I know.” He couldn’t argue the fact. Though she hadn’t been able to say much towards the end, her wishes had been clear enough. She had wanted to keep the hand; the mark. 

“And here I thought you cared about her,” the Commander’s words were bitten and furious from between his teeth. “That I could trust you to keep her safe.”

“I couldn’t contain the mark for her.” He wouldn’t fight the man - not now. Not when he was in such obvious pain. But he could at least try to offer a reason. “It was… crawling over her arm. She was screaming… I had to make it stop.”

“You had no right to take the choice from her!” It wasn’t a shout - Cullen was careful to maintain his volume in this place - but the force of his emotions ran unchecked in his tenor.

“I should have let her sacrifice herself then?” Dorian’s control over his own emotions was significantly better than the Commander’s. Cullen’s misery was already more than Dorian could imagine. After all Cora was not Dorian’s beloved, and yet the fear that filled him at the sight of her like this was almost more than he could bear. 

“I made the choice for her,” he went on gently, “I won’t deny that. I wouldn’t allow her to die a martyr. Hate me if it helps. Hate me like she undoubtedly will. At least the pair of you will have the luxury of doing so together.” 

There was no rancor in the offer. Whatever emotions the pair held for him Dorian would accept it. He had earned no less, good intentions or no. The path to the Black City was paved with good intentions; wasn’t that the saying?

Legs that shouldn’t have been sturdy enough to lift him hefted the Altus from his stool, turning him from the sickbed he was no longer welcomed at and pushing him towards the entrance until a hand caught him roughly by the shoulder. Instinctually Dorian flinched, waiting for the blow that was surely to follow.

He waited.

The hand at his shoulder loosened, but did not release.

“Forgive me,” the whisper behind him was quiet. Heartbroken. “Maker, forgive me. I didn’t…” Cullen’s breath shuddered and Dorian turned, stricken to find tears streaking the Commander’s face as it tipped down in misery. He’d never known the stoic man to cry. If Dorian was to go solely off of the persona Cullen displayed publicly, he wouldn’t have thought it was possible. But here Cullen was, weeping from depths Dorian’s soul had known too many times in his own life. It was enough to crush the air from the dark man’s lungs.

Not this man. Not his friend.

His own fingers found their way to Cullen’s shoulders, clad only in the white undershirt that was worn beneath the jacket of the Inquisition’s formal uniform. There he held tight, awkward for a moment before pulling Cullen close in a hesitant embrace. He didn’t know if he was welcome or not, or if Cullen viewed him with the same warm regard Dorian had developed for his friend’s amatus. But if Cora’s temperament was a reflection of Cullen’s, her beloved needed this.

“None of that,” the dark man murmured quietly, “there’s nothing to forgive.” Strong hands moved to clutch at the backs of Dorian’s forearms, uncomfortably so, though Dorian would sooner bite off his own tongue than admit to it. The shuddering breath at Dorian’s ear was soon replaced with a voice lost to despair. 

“Cole… offered to help her.” Dorian had heard the account while waiting with the others outside and the statement here renewed the sickening feeling it had previously induced. Cole’s definition of ‘help’ when someone was in such a state was precisely what Dorian had betrayed his friend to prevent. The thought of Cole easing Cora from this world was nearly too much to consider. Dorian quite likely would never have forgiven the boy for that mercy.

Another reason he would not fault Cora if she chose to hate Dorian. Betrayal was betrayal - his father had taught him that.

“She’s always been stubborn,” Dorian admitted at last. “Don’t anyone try to influence her; it only makes her dig into her own mindset more. Cole will get an earful of his own when she wakes.”

“She’ll wake, though,” Cullen murmured, pulling himself from Dorian’s shoulder slowly. “Because of you.”

At last the glib tongue he was so well versed in was able to be plied again. “In fairness it was Bull who did the hard part. I only gave the order.”

“It’s not easy, is it,” Cullen breathed, pulling away slowly and running a hand over his own face wearily. “Making those decisions? The ones you know you’ll be condemned for.”

Within his chest Dorian felt his heart shatter anew. While he had apparently earned Cullen’s forgiveness, it was clear he was not the only one who knew what Cora’s reaction would be. 

“I should…” Dorian’s voice nearly caught in his throat and he held to his composure by nothing but will alone, “... let the others see her. You’ll send word?” He left the end of that request off entirely. While her demise was likely no longer as pressing a threat, her waking admittedly frightened him more with each passing moment. He was becoming increasingly fearful that he wouldn’t be able to bear her hatred of him.

“Of course,” the blonde assured him, and without another word Dorian departed from the tent, ignoring the eyes that followed him once he was outside. 

XXXX

Dorian found Bull in the tavern, draped over the bar like some ornate tapestry, and more tankards in than the mage could even properly estimate. Without announcing himself, he took a seat beside the intoxicated qunari and demanded a mug of whatever it was Bull had drank last. A vile ale of sorts was delivered to him, which he tossed back in one go before choking on the burn that followed.

“She good?” The words were low and quiet, but not slurred as expected. It seemed that Bull’s mood was more altered than his sobriety.

“If you can call what happened to her good, then yes,” Dorian muttered. “She’s positively marvelous.”

“What about you?” This question was lower still, and Bull’s arm lifted slightly over his head. Dorian became vaguely aware of chairs scraping at their backs before the tavern fell absolutely silent as the Chargers cleared the space of all but the pair at the bar and the barkeep.

“What about me?” The Altus demanded sourly. “I still have both of my arms, if you’ll recall.”

“She’s your friend.”

“ _ Was _ my friend.” Dorian corrected petulantly. “I don’t think ordering her arm removed against her will allows me to make that claim anymore.” Another mug was plunked down before him and he dove into it immediately, finishing it off and emerging from it gasping from the pain it drew down his gullet.

“That doesn’t mean you stopped caring about her.”

“And what are you, my mother?” The dark man demanded heatedly. “You certainly lack her fashion sense I’ll tell you that much.”

A massive hand settled on Dorian’s shoulder, which he shrugged off instantly. The well of something unpleasant was building in his chest with every word spoken - his or not. He didn’t need Bull’s ridiculous attempts at support now.

“She’ll understand, Kadan,” Bull murmured softly.

“Enough.”

“I mean it.”

“I said  _ enough _ .”

The hand returned. “Dorian, she’s not-”

“What don’t you understand about all of this? She was my only friend Bull!” Dorian’s eyes burned like the ale he was gorging on; the wellspring within him finally breaking free of its confines. “The only person who actually gave a damn about what I wanted for myself! She has never done anything but support me completely. And what did I do to show my gratitude?! I betrayed her! Because I was too fucking afraid of losing her to care what  _ she _ wanted!”

The tears he had held at bay now slipped along his cheeks freely, and the angry growl that he tried to use to stem their flow emerged instead as a single warbling sob. 

A muscular, grey arm engulfed him from behind and Dorian was pulled to his amatus’s warm barrel chest. But here there was no heat or passion in Bull’s embrace when the other arm folded over him. There was only the solid press of someone holding him comfortably.

Just as Cora had held Dorian what felt like a lifetime ago after their encounter with his father in Redcliffe.

And now, weeping for her like he had wept for his father then, Dorian’s heart broke anew.

XXXX

The following day Dorian retreated to his favored small park in the Winter Palace; having only just sobered up from his night of drinking and wallowing with Bull. It had been a shameful experience he wanted to forget, made worse by his lover’s well-meant but grating need to continue the conversation on Dorian’s feelings well into the night. The infuriating mercenary hadn’t even been deterred by the promise of unbridled sex, which Dorian had proffered if only to shut the fool up.

It was better to attempt to move on from the topic - dwelling would serve no purpose, he knew. A book pilfered weeks ago from Skyhold’s library, a decanture of his favorite wine to chase off the hangover, and the sunshine and solitude of the park were enough to give him ample distraction and improve his mood - or so he told himself. The combination was sufficient to distract the mage from at least one thing; for he failed to notice immediately when the necklace at his throat began to heat with the use of its magic. Only when the tiny voice echoed from its glittering surface did he realize it had been activated.

“Can you hear me?” Dorian’s heart froze within his chest, his fingers reaching up to touch the charm hesitantly. “Dorian?”

“I’m here.” It was a pitiful response, and he hoped that the emotion which currently choked him hadn’t carried through the magic. Maker, he was no better than Bull!

“Are you…” Cora paused, but only for a moment. “Bull came to see me.”

_ Vehedas! _

“Did he?” The statement was delivered with flat annoyance. Whether or not he sundered the hide from the brute’s overly-muscled form depended entirely on what Cora would say next.

“He did. Are you done being an idiot?”

Not exactly the statement he had been hoping for, but somehow comforting nonetheless. “That depends entirely on your definition of idiot.”

“You aren’t like your father,” Cora’s voice came out as a sigh tinged with annoyance. “You didn’t betray me. The mark was killing me. I know it; I was just trying to deny it because… it doesn’t matter. What matters is how you think I could hate you for saving my life.”

Dorian swallowed. Hard. “Hate is a strong term,” he replied drolly. “I don’t know of anyone who could actually claim to hate me. I’m so likeable after all.”

“You’re also an ass.” That was delivered with a smile. He didn’t have to see it to know it was there. His heart clenched in his chest.

“Not entirely untrue.”

“And my friend,” Cora added, “if  _ you _ can handle being friends with an idiot, that is.”

Not unfamiliarly from the last few days, Dorian’s chest tightened uncomfortably; his fingers wrapping around the locket tightly before releasing it so he could speak. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.” He whispered.

There was a laugh from the bauble, relief adding a watery quality to the sound. “Good. Then get your ass in here so I can hug you and ruin your hair.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

XXXX

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feeeeeeeeeeels. Just. Feels. God I love Dorian. He's seriously such an amazing character; so well fleshed out and REAL. And I love his personality, his quirks, his faults, I love every damn thing about him. I wanted to romance him in a play through at least once, but: 
> 
> 1\. Cullen  
> 2\. Dorian and Bull are so damned adorable together that I can't imagine NOT seeing them together. Why would I break up such a perfect pair?
> 
> So I HC Dorian as my Quizzy's BFF forever and ever. And he'll do ANYTHING to keep her safe. Anything.
> 
> I'm going to go cry now.


	16. Chapter 16:  Pretense

##  **Chapter 16: Pretense**

“Cullen, could you help?” The hair caught up in her right hand was drawn into a tight bun against the nape of her neck, and with her eyes alone Cora gestured down at the container of hair pins on the dressing table before her. “I haven’t figured out how to do this one-handed yet.” Her gaze was bright, a cheerful smile gracing her lips, and Cullen couldn’t bring himself to return the expression.

It was wrong.

“Certainly,” he said quietly, taking up the knot of hair she held. With his other hand he carefully turned her back towards the mirror and began pulling pins from the cup one by one, applying them as she instructed.

A laugh bubbled from her chest as she watched him work through the reflection. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure this out soon. You won’t have to play nursemaid to me forever.” In addition to her hair, Cora had asked him to tie her boots for her earlier; her typical distaste for laces nowhere to be found in her request. It had been that complacency that had set his mood sour to begin with. It was completely uncharacteristic of her.

And at last the frown he had been holding back for hours worked its way to his face. “I know what you’re doing.”

A playful smirk, hints of flirtation in those sparkling sea-blue eyes, captured his gaze in the mirror. “Oh? Do tell.”

“We’re not Orlesian. You don’t have to play coy with me. I’ve seen it before, Cora. I’ve lived through it. Please tell me you see it too.” 

Cora blinked at the seriousness of his response, all play vanishing from her features. “I don’t know what you mean."

“What happened to you,” he said softly, “pretending it didn’t happen won’t make it so.”

Another smile graced her lips, but this time it was wry and accompanied by an arched brow. “It’s kind of hard for me to pretend that.” And, as if he needed reminding, she lifted the pinned-off sleeve from her side and displayed the remnants of her left arm in the reflection. It should not have hurt him as it did. This was her trauma, not his.

“I-” Cullen took in a breath, standing back from her once he had finished. “I know what you’re doing. I did it myself. For years, in Kirkwall. I hid from the pain behind duty. I buried it behind what I thought was strength of will. Please… let me help you.”

Cora stood; her expression warm and affectionate as she turned to face him. “You just did,” she murmured. “And I promise you, I’m fine.”

His disbelief must have been evident, for Cora’s lips flattened into an irritated line, and she huffed irritably through her nose.

“I said I’m fine, Cullen,” she pressed. “The council starts soon. You’re supposed to arrive with Josephine and Leliana first. I’ll see you down there?”

Her chin lifted imperiously, her imposing mask concealing the softness of her features, and as much as Cullen wanted to force her to see what she was doing, he recognized that now was not the time. She was preparing herself to face the council and he could not undermine that for personal reasons. She must be ready.

“Of course,” he murmured instead. “I trust you’re confident in your decision?”

“I am,” she stated without hesitation.

“Then I shall support you,” he said softly, “no matter what.” While he spoke of her announcement to the council, he meant it in all facets of their life together. Even those she didn’t want to acknowledge.

A small smile nearly graced her features; one she carefully schooled away as her Inquisitor’s facade claimed her fully.

“Thank you, Commander.”

XXXX

It was over. The Inquisition was no more. He hadn’t anticipated her choice, and it had taken him aback to hear the words spoken. But he would not go back on his word. When voices rang out through the assembly in protest from their supporters Cullen was among the first to silence them with scathing glares. It was the Inquisitor’s choice to make, after all. And while he was concerned for her state of mind he also knew her as one who would not run from anything. If she believed the Inquisition was no longer necessary there must be a reason. One he intended to learn about as soon as the council had concluded.

As the session closed there had been no discussion of what would happen to its resources, Skyhold, or the information it held. Questions had been raised briefly, but quickly put down by the Inquisitor. That was of no concern to Ferelden or Orlais - of that she made herself perfectly clear. When Arl Teagan protested, Cora pointedly inquired if he was trying to seize property of a non-Ferelden order. The matter was then dropped when Cora affirmed that all holdings would be liquidated appropriately, and Skyhold emptied before the spring; offers from Empress Celene to help the Inquisitor legally establish it as her personal residence politely declined.

Cullen was grateful for that. Though it had been home for so long, living there after this was all said and done would feel wrong. The thought of remaining in the castle without those they had grown so close to was a melancholy one.

There was a closing dinner that was to immediately follow the council; one that Orlesian hospitality insisted upon, propriety demanded attendance to, and no one actually wished to attend. The Inquisitor herself stayed only an hour before quietly informing her advisors that her injuries were troubling her and leaving them to finish in her place. The feast, while not an official meeting, had just as many important conversations taking place as the actual counsel had. In spite of how badly he wanted to follow Cora it would not do to leave the remnants of the Inquisition without at least its three advisors in attendance to speak on its behalf.

Hours later, when enough dignitaries had retired, ensuring no important talks would take place behind the advisors’ backs, Cullen was at last able to leave the feast. Alone he made his way for the Inquisitor’s rooms to see to Cora’s condition-

-and finding the quarters dark and cold. The Inquisitor’s things were packed neatly in the crate beside the door, awaiting the men to take them back to the carts in the morning. The dress uniform she had worn to dinner lay at the top of the crate while her staff, armor and field pack were all missing.

Fear took hold of his insides. Maker, he had  _ known _ there was something wrong!

Quiet commands were issued to the guards stationed outside of her doors: find the Inquisitor, and for the Maker’s sake keep it quiet!

It had taken only minutes for Cullen to realize where she had gone; less time than it had required to make the run to the actual location. She may have disbanded the Inquisition, but she would always be the Inquisitor. She had been so even before the title had been granted to her. 

She would not turn her back on danger now.

The door opened with an echoing clang, revealing the eluvian glowing in the dark room; its light throwing distorted shadows in every corner. Before its dizzying surface the still form of the Inquisitor knelt, her face buried in her remaining hand while the sleeve dangling from her other shoulder hung open oddly below the elbow. Off to her right, the remnants of a vase previously situated against the wall were scattered beneath her staff; unnecessary testimony to her state of mind. 

Though it normally would have pained him to see her so lost, a sense of relief washed over him. She could hide no longer.

Kneeling before her, Cullen pulled his wife into his arms, feeling fingers twist into his uniform coat tightly as a nose pressed into his collarbone. The sounds of her despair continued as he held her without words. Foot falls outside of the door captured his attention and he lifted a forbidding gaze to those who entered, finding Inquisition scouts had arrived. One look at their Commander gave them order enough. Discipline straightening their spines and without a word they exited the room, but only enough to turn their backs from the scene within and stand sentry against further intrusion.

Cora wept on, oblivious to it all, as slowly her misery became garbled before at last forming something coherent.

“I can’t,” her voice emerged, muted against his shoulder, “I can’t do it.”

“You can,” he whispered, knowing that it was possible to overcome this. It would be difficult, but he knew none stronger than her. That he was now able to support her was proof of that. He would not be here if it were not for her. Not in any way that mattered, at least.

“No,” she croaked pitiably, “I  _ can’t _ . I had thought that I could, but then I realized that all of my schemes needed magic. And magic is why we’re in this mess. He’s going to use it to murder us all, and what am I going to do about it? Hurl fireballs at him? Maker, those Templars were right about mages.  _ You _ were right. My kind is going to destroy the world. According to Solas we already have.”

Cullen stiffened. He had been wrong about her state of mind. This was worse. So much worse…

“You are not the actions of the radicals of your kind,” he whispered vehemently, his grip around her tightening until she should have protested. “I will not allow you to place yourself alongside the likes of that maniac.”

“I was ripping open and closing rifts with the mark because I thought it was the right thing to do,” she whimpered, “because I had the power to. He’s going to tear down the veil because he thinks that’s the right thing to do. But in the end it doesn’t matter what motivates us - the point is that we do it anyway. Tell me how I’m not like him.”

“His actions will result in countless deaths!”

“How many people died in this war?” She countered, now pulling away roughly to stare into his eyes; looking as broken as he knew himself to have felt so many times in the past. Worse yet, Cora knew that he had that number. The blow to his argument was precise, and she did not have to wait for his response. “A war I lead! A war between two mages, who both used people like weapons to strike at the other! If magic didn’t exist this never would have happened! It twists people. It drives them insane!”

“Only those who are willing to fall to its temptations!” Cullen returned, his voice rising with hers though he knew he should remain calm. Yet to hear her speak of herself so cruelly pulled a desperation from himself he could not repress. “You are not like them!”

“I am exactly like them!” She cried, the tenor now marked with fear as much as grief. “I’m losing my mind!” 

Cullen ceased his attempts to console her; all ferocity gone from his tone. “What?”

“I’m having dreams,” she admitted, her shrieks quieting to tremulous murmurs. “They don’t make any sense, and they keep coming. Ever since we defeated Corypheus. Again and again, every night. Sometimes I wake up and I’m still in those places. And I swear, Cullen, I swear I’ve been there before. But it’s impossible because places like that just don’t exist!”

If he had stilled any more completely Cullen’s heart would have stopped in his chest. 

“Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter what I’m dreaming - it matters that it’s happening!” Her words ended in a guttering sob. “I’m losing my mind, like mages in power do! What if I become an abomination? What if-”

“Are they tall buildings?” Cullen demanded, taking hold of her shoulders carefully; having just enough wherewithal to avoid causing her injury in his alarm. “Made of glass and stretching higher than any tower you’ve seen before?”

Cerulean eyes fixed on him raptly. “How do you know that?”

Cullen tore his eyes from her only for a moment, realizing that this was not a conversation meant for others to hear. “You there!” He called to the sentries beyond the room. “Close those doors and let no one pass. Not even the Spymaster or the Ambassador. You are to stop the Empress herself if she comes. Do I make myself clear?” A salute from both answered his command followed by the low rumble of the door closing, diminishing the light to that which the eluvian emanated alone.

“The carts travel without horses,” he pressed once he was certain it was safe, his voice lower but fervent, “and the noise there is deafening. The skies hold ships that ride on air, but resemble steel birds more than boats, and the ground is covered in stone roads smoother than man has ever laid here.”

Her eyes flicked between his, and though her mouth hung slack she gave him all the answer he needed. He was right.

She was remembering. The fear swelled within him, but more than fear was the knowledge that she felt as he had. She thought she was losing her mind. And he knew that he could help her. Even if…

No. He couldn’t let that dissuade him. It was time.

“You’re not mad,” he said softly. “And this isn’t happening because you’re a mage. I know. I was there as well.” The gaze before him widened.

“It began in a room smaller than this one,” he said, his grip disentangling from her shoulders so that he could carefully reach down to enfold her hand between his, “a room that also had a special mirror; one that turned out to be a door...”

XXXX

Things did not improve that night. In fact they grew even worse; something he had not believed to be possible.

By the end of his recital Cora had been livid, shaking in her anger and hurling accusations, arguments and obscenities at him. Her rage had been erratic and widespread; directed at his secrets, his obstinance and his inability to see the danger in magic when the evidence of it was there in his story. Yet he persisted through her denials, gratified to see the moments in which he was confident she could recall what he was speaking of. She could be angry now, but she could not go on believing she was losing herself to madness. He would not allow that.

When exhausted resignation had taken the place of denial Cora ended the conversation; opening the door to find more than just two sentries present. During their time it seemed half of their inner circle had been notified of the turmoil behind the door, and Cullen cursed the gossips viciously. Yet there was one among the numbers that Cullen would tolerate; Dorian leaned against the door frame outside casually, his hands folded before him, though his face was anything but serene. Dark eyes sought Cullen’s; their question clear. With a nod Cullen answered and the Altus pushed himself from the stoneword, taking up a slow pace beside the Inquisitor as she made her way back to the palace proper.

For his part, Cullen chose to return to the tents for the few hours that remained before dawn rather than accompany Cora to her rooms. She needed time; he understood that more than anyone. And while his heart ached to know he couldn’t help her in this, he desperately hoped that perhaps Dorian could. He was also a mage, after all. If anyone could help her see reason in matters of magic, it was her closest friend. 

The ensuing return to Skyhold had been subdued, with his fellow advisors understanding something had occurred, though not knowing precisely what. Quiet inquiries were made to him which he answered in the vaguest possible ways. They would not understand what was happening, even if he put it into terms of the Fade and rifts. It was simply too much. So he let them continue in their belief that Cora’s trauma was a result of what she had lost and not what she was actually experiencing. It was gratifying to know at least that they cared enough for his bride to avoid pressing the matter with her directly.

It also helped that there was no shortage of distractions once safely back within Skyhold’s walls. As Cora had promised at the Exalted Council, the Inquisition was now tasked with the disassembly of its order from assets to personnel. Cora rallied herself well on most occasions, throwing herself into her work just as Cullen had; often forgetting to sleep or eat until Cullen came for her personally. His appreciation towards her redoubled at the realization of what she had endured in order to keep him going during his darkest days.

On one such night she and Josephine had been found in the Ambassador’s office, sitting over ledgers containing the list of vendors throughout Ferelden, Skyhold and Orlais that the Inquisition had maintained opened accounts with. Debts had been discussed over the course of their hours there, and allotted the appropriate funds from the coffers. Now the pair sat in the low candlelight pouring over the reports and agreeing upon the instructions for payments necessary to close out the accounts, which were to be sent out before the week’s end. 

“Forgive the intrusion,” Cullen announced by way of greeting, “but I’ve come for the Inquisitor.”

Cora raised tired eyes toward him, with Josephine looking equally beleaguered. “Thank you, Cullen,” his wife said with a stretch, “but we need to finish here. You should go on ahead of me. We’re nearly done.”

“I see,” Cullen allowed diplomatically, pushing into the room, “then permit me to help.”

“That would be welcome,” Josephine agreed readily, a grateful smile crossing her features. “Would you be so kind as to take up that list there? We’ve already tallied the balances owed to each and now simply need to mark the payments to be made from the Inquisition’s available funds.”

“Bookkeeping,” Cullen’s brows furled in disgust. “Of course.”

“A necessary evil when supporting an army, I’m afraid,” the Ambassador quipped teasingly, watching as Cullen picked up a quill and began updating the numbers on his ledger; Cora reading aloud of the available funds as he and Josephine depleted them on paper. Cullen’s eyes scanned line after line of text as he made the appropriate marks. The clean rows of Josephine’s writing were flawless on the paper; the print small and symmetrical. Before him Cora’s voice was stilted as she read.  And without warning his mind was then filled with another time in another small room.

_ Cora was speaking, the sheets of cloud-white paper in their grips bearing print that was remarkably uniform. But he could tell she was growing increasingly flustered the further they progressed. The dialogue required that she flirt with him, and while there was already tension between them in that aspect, being pushed into it was undoubtedly daunting. _

_ Cullen reached over and pressed the appropriate button from the panel of marked ‘keys’ on the table at his side.  _ _ “Why don’t you just say it once. Without trying to capture it.” Her eyes flicked down to the words in her hands but he stopped her, bidding her to look at him as she spoke. “After all - you’re supposed to be speaking to me. Right?” _

_ Cora obeyed, speaking stiffly at first and blushing furiously with every innuendo that passed her lips. Yet soon enough the words came with greater ease and Cullen began capturing their speech once more, his own lines warming his insides though they were recited from the sheets before him. They were his words, after all; responses to statements and questions she had posed to him early on in their acquaintanceship. He recalled some of the questions clearly, and how she had caught him off guard in ways he had not experienced in over a decade. _

_ “I love you,” she breathed at last, “you know that, right?” His heart filled to bursting at the expression she wore. _

_ “I love you too. Maker, I have always loved the way your eyes light when you say those words.” The admission was not part of their script, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. She was too beautiful to disregard. _

The sound of his own name broke through the memory, and with several blinks he returned to Josephine’s office in Skyhold; Cora and the Ambassador peering at him.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, “it seems today has been exhausting for all of us. Perhaps finances are better discussed with a rested mind? We should continue this tomorrow. If it helps I can rejoin you both to help finish the task more quickly.”

“Thank you Commander,” Josephine smiled warmly. “I must admit the idea of retiring for the evening is extremely appealing.”

Cullen set the list and quill down immediately and stood, holding out a hand to Cora. “It’s decided then. First thing tomorrow?”

The two excused themselves from the room with wishes for a pleasant night exchanged and made for Cora’s chambers together, only speaking once they reached the stairs.

“Was that-?” Her voice was hesitant, and Cullen knew precisely what she was asking for.

“A memory,” he admitted, “of our time together in Chicago. We were reading from a script written on snow white parchment in Dee’s home,” he paused once safely within the confines of her chambers, taking her hand so he could look at her face. “Do you remember that?”

Cora’s brow furled. “Tell me?” A few details more of the experience were given but Cora shook her head resignedly after a moment. “I don’t recall that one…”

The inflection in her voice, however, told Cullen that something else had come to mind. “What  _ do _ you remember?”

“There was…” her frown deepened, “paper as smooth as glass in my hands. It had words and pictures of food on it. We were sitting at a small table and the room around us smelled of meats and spices. I was telling you something. I knew that I didn’t want to tell you but I had to. You were going to be upset,” her eyes crinkled sadly as she finally met his gaze. “You  _ did _ get upset. I felt… terrible. Like I’d betrayed you.”

It was easy for him to recall what she was referring to. His memory was no longer clouded as hers. “You were telling me of how you knew of Thedas,” he said softly. “Of your experiences with interacting with it. I was upset because-”

“You didn’t believe I was me,” she whispered. “Because I had been more than just me. I’d been the Champion of Kirkwall too. And the Hero of Ferelden. I remember that...”

“Then do you remember what we’d decided the following day? We concluded that what you had done was similar to Solas’ ability to dream.”

His mind jarred to a halt like a cart wheel that had snapped; thoughts tumbling through his head rapidly, laying out a clear path of logic that was almost too easy to see now. Maker, why hadn’t he thought of it before?!

“You said the orb had been Solas’s,” he announced slowly, trying very carefully to not speak nonsense. “That, in the battle with Corypheus, it had shown you things. Places you didn’t recognize at the time. It must have been Chicago. This has to be the explanation!”

“Cullen, I don’t understand-”

“Your memories returned when you used Solas’s orb. What if, in harnessing the orb, you took some of its power into yourself?” He was right - he was certain! “Just as you did when it bestowed the mark upon you. What if that power was that of a dreamer; just like its master?”

Green-blue eyes blinked at him, trying to catch up with his rapidly progressing reasoning. “How do you know of this? I thought Templars didn’t study magic to that degree?”

“I admit, I’ve been reading on the subject,” he said quietly. “Dorian lent me some of his books. There wasn’t much, but what I found was- now don’t look like that. He doesn’t know anything beyond the fact that I am trying to find a way to help stop Solas.”

Cora’s panic visibly eased at his assurance, silence taking her as she considered his proposals before her own expression began to mirror his. “I’ve been taking herbs to block my dreams since returning to Skyhold, but that’s just at night. We had them on hand because Solas used to use them…” her voice trailed off as she lost herself to thought but he didn’t need her to finish to understand. 

“Is that the tea he used to drink? I always found it strange that he drank tea even though he hated it. And I read that dreamers used herbs to enter the Fade.”

“No, the tea was from different herbs,” she admitted, “but we have them here as well.”

Part of him feared what was to come next, but he disregarded the fear. Dreams were only dreams - not doors. His studies and prior experience taught him as much. She could dream of Chicago but it would only ever be a dream. To enter the Fade physically required the mark that she no longer possessed.

And now he had a duty. He had to remind her that she wasn’t dangerous. That magic in the right hands wasn’t a curse. She had taught him this by acting as his personal example for years. In her hands magic had brought salvation and justice. It had been tempered with reason and restraint. She had championed her mages and led them by example through battle.

There was no mage in Thedas he trusted more than her.

“Will you take them?” His question was quiet, cautious, but not entirely fearful. 

Her jaw opened and closed soundlessly first. “Go back… to Chicago?”

“It would only be a visit, remember,” he soothed. “You would still be here. And I’ll remain here, by your side, watching over you until you return. Nothing will trouble you while you dream. I swear it.” He would trust her to walk her own dreams. But that did not mean he would leave her to this alone.

The silence between them stretched on as Cora drifted off, lost in thought. “I think…” she hesitated. “When this is over. When the Inquisition is done. Maybe then… if you’ll stay with me?”

Cullen smiled. It wasn’t a full return to herself. But it was a start.

“For the rest of my days.”

XXXX

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo close. Like SOOOOOOOOO close. I'm gonna post the rest tonight. Because I've taken WAAAAAAAY too long getting to this!


	17. Chapter 17:  Family

##  **Chapter 17: Family**

  
  


_ Cullen, _

_ I’m so glad you and Cora found each other. I can’t begin to imagine what she’s gone through, but she has you devoted to her and I have every faith she’ll be fine.  _

_ And your warning was unnecessary. I can promise you I won’t be  _ ‘ _ too much _ ’ _ for your beloved wife when you come. _

_ Please don’t change your mind or find you’re too busy after all. We’re all expecting you at Bloomingtide as you said. Rosalie and I have started clearing out and redecorating a room for you, and Branson is building a bed for his brother and sister-in-law. _

_ And since you won’t be going back to Skyhold, I took the liberty of looking and found a lovely little farm that you could purchase less than a mile from here. It’s nothing like Skyhold, I’m sure, but it would be so nice to- _

_ I can hear your eyes rolling already. Fine. You win. For now. _

_ Love, _

_ Mia. _

XXXX

_ Mia, _

_ This is exactly what I meant in my last letter. Maker’s breath, please try to contain yourself. Cora grew up in the Circle remember, and these last few months have been-  _

_ Just, try. _

_ You have my word. We will be there as promised. And there’s no need to go to any ridiculous lengths at our expense. We are fully capable of looking after our own needs. _

_ Love, _

_ Cullen _

XXXX

_ Cullen Stanton Rutherford, _

_ Do not presume to tell me how I should and should not prepare my house for my family. _

_ I will see you at Bloomingtide. And don’t wear armor. It’s difficult to hug. _

_ Love, _

_ Mia. _

XXXX

So Bloomingtide was when they went. 

Mia had described their new home for him years ago, so he could find it if he ever decided to visit, but to see it in person was strange. Though he had known they had been forced to leave the home he’d spent his childhood in, he’d still pictured them there when reading Mia’s letters. Undoubtedly because he’d never laid eyes on their current house, but also out of familiarity. That was what had been home to him.

It probably no longer existed now that he thought of it.

Still, this was a bit larger than the ‘cottage’ Mia had called it. The second floor was clearly newer than the rest. Branson’s handiwork, Cullen had been told. The wooden boards along the outer walls were cleaned of growth and in good repair, the walkway cleared of grass, and the shutters opened wide to allow the fresh air in. Smoke billowed cheerfully from the chimney and all in all it was the very picture of serenity.

At his side Cora’s shoulder bumped his arm softly. Cullen smiled down at her while the fingers of her hand trailed over Pup’s head absently, her gaze fixed ahead of them.

“You’ll be fine,” he said for what must have been the fifth time that day. “They’ve already decided that they like you.”

“Right,” she said, releasing the mabari and squaring her shoulders as she would for a meeting with dignitaries. “I know.”

A chuckle broke free from Cullen’s chest and he pulled her close. “There’s no need for that. You don’t have to impress anyone. If anything they’re going to try to impress you. You are still the Herald of Andraste, after all.”

Eyes that were forever expressive rolled dramatically in her lovely face, putting aside the Inquisitor’s facade she was trying not to adapt so frequently anymore. She had finally shed that title just over a month ago, after all. The title of Herald would likely never leave her, however. 

“Please tell me I don’t have to act like that here.”

“I think you might scare them if you did,” he laughed. “If they begin to annoy you...” At his laughter the dog beside his wife barked loudly and persistently, bouncing on his feet as though he hadn’t already walked several miles that day.

The door to the cabin opened quickly in response, and a mane of unruly blonde hair appeared atop a thin feminine form who began striding quickly down the walk. Behind her, three more figures appeared at the door; the smallest sitting atop the broad shoulder of Cullen’s brother. All bore heads of wild blonde curls except for the shorter of the two women, who had partially tamed hers into braids.

“Maker, you come from a family of lions,” Cora whispered and Cullen wrapped an arm tightly around her waist before leading her forward to close the gap. Mia’s pace quickened into what was practically a jog and, once she was close enough her arms shot out to ensnare Cullen, squeezing him tightly to her despite the awkwardness of his grip upon Cora. Still he managed to devote one arm to returning the gesture, though with noticeably less force. At his side he heard Cora call Pup to order, the low growl dying off at her command. It was gratifying to know  _ something _ of the dog’s training had taken.

“Cullen Rutherford,” his sister hissed into his ear without breaking her hold on him, “don’t you ever make us wait this long to see you again. Am I clear?”

He could only smile at her forceful command in spite of its demeaning nature. “Hello Mia. I’ve missed you, too.” When his sister pulled back, however, he was surprised to see tears sparkling in her eyes. Mia was not one for crying, and had mastered herself well the day he had left for the Templars. Or so he had been told in his mother’s letter.

His sister’s arms released him only to have her hands lock to either side of his face; her eyes searching his features as she turned his head fractionally this way and that. “Maker, look at you. You’re so much like father. But where did this come from?” One finger flicked over his scar teasingly and Cullen pulled his head back, swatting her hand away gently. That was enough of  _ that _ .

“Mia,” he said pointedly, “this is Cora.”

The bright copper eyes of his sister were upon Cora and she released Cullen only so that another small form could collide with him; Rosalie taking up Mia’s place in trying to squeeze the breath from his lungs while chanting his name against his shirt. It was impossible not to hug her in return, and in doing so he lost his grip on his wife.

“Cora,” Cullen heard, and watched over his youngest sister’s head as Mia took Cora’s hand up in her own, “I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally meet you. Cullen hasn’t been this happy in years-”

Cullen could already tell it was coming. “Mia-”

“-and I just know-”

Rosalie shifted her embrace on her brother, her eyes turning towards their sister. “Cora?” The thin frame around him released and was instantly wrapped around his wife, who gazed at him with wide eyes from beyond the two blonde heads between them.

“Rosalie!” Cullen called, but was prevented from more by an arm as thick as a bronto’s leg wrapping around his shoulders, completely cutting him off from his line of sight to Cora. At his back Pup had entered a frenzy of barking, undoubtedly leaping about in playful excitement now that Cora had assured him all was well. Cullen was beginning to wish she hadn’t. “Branson! Maker, what are they feeding you?”

“Manual labor and Mother’s recipe for venison stew,” his brother laughed. “It’s on the cookfire waiting for us. Callum, this is your uncle Cullen. Cullen, this is Callum.” The boy above their heads peered down at Cullen, eyes bright and joyful and without any sign of shyness.

“Cullen! Did you know my name is like yours? Da said he did that on purpose! And he told me you’d teach me how to use a sword!”

Cullen scowled darkly at his brother. “Branson, I will do no such-”

Two peals of familiar yet altered giggling caught his attention and Cullen’s mind snapped back to Cora; snippets of feeling overwhelmed during his first moments in Chicago trying to press forward though he masterfully held the memories back.

When he turned to her, however, he found the greatest of smiles splitting her face while his sisters tittered at something he had missed. Whatever their amusement, it had undoubtedly been at his expense. He knew their humor well enough, even after the years of separation.

“Cora,” he managed, “allow me to introduce the Rutherfords.” Then with a wry smile. “You get used to them. Or you run, like I did.”

Cerulean eyes widened brightly. “I do believe that was a joke.”

“Believe what you like,” he retorted, “but tell me if you still think that in two weeks.”

The laugh that responded was the most beautiful sound he had heard in months.

Perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps what Cora had needed after all was ‘too much.’

If this kept up, he had no doubt he’d be looking over a little farm not more than a mile down the road. 

Maker help him.

XXXX

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Rutherford brood, too. I have a feeling that coming from such loving, stable stock was one of the things that kept Cullen from completely slipping over the edge during his darkest years. Sure his family might not have been at the fore at his thoughts, but just knowing they were out there in the back of his head probably helped on a bad night or two. Or at least that's my HC.


	18. Chapter 18:  Cullenite

##  **Chapter 18: Cullenite**

  
  


It was bittersweet, standing here again. To experience the wind and the sharp smells and the lights - Cora could hardly believe that this had all once been normal to her. It felt so surreal now. But not in a foreign way. It was more like looking at a place she had known in childhood. She would always remember it with affection though it would never be ‘home’ for her again. She had a new home now. A family.

This was only a visit.

That didn’t stop her feet from moving. They carried her away from that strange door that spun around instead of swung on hinges - there was a new name posted with the others on the wall beside it now. She didn’t belong here anymore.

She followed the path down the unending line of buildings, the delicious scent of coffee wafting from one door and for a moment she almost turned into it from old habit alone. Stopping herself she chuckled instead. She wouldn’t be able to order if she tried. She was here to share her dream with only one person, and if there were others inside she couldn’t see them. Just as they couldn’t see her. 

Instead she crossed the road, passing the smooth brick wall that had yet another layer of grey paint applied to it; and over that a new scrawling name in fat letters of purple, yellow and white marked the artist’s style. She smiled. That battle had been going on for years, new splashes of color replacing the old every few months. She doubted it would ever change.

Finally her boots carried her to the brown brick building that had been her destination. With consideration she peered at the small circular buttons beside the door. In the past she had to press one in particular to gain entry. Now she only had to place her hand to the door and wait for the click of the latch. The door swung open for her without an issue. 

She was getting better at this.

She followed the stairs up, recalling how she had listened to grumblings about the climb countless times before. But whenever an opening on a lower level was announced nothing was ever done about it. Nothing ever would be, either. The old arguments tugged an affectionate smile to her lips and eagerly she bound up the remaining steps until she reached a door - identical to all of the others in the building - but so precious to her. Her hand touched the knob and she waited until it clicked. Then another click a few inches above that, before finally the sound of a small chain falling against the wooden panel. She twisted the knob and the door opened easily.

She wondered when she’d be able to just ignore the doors all together. Someday.

All around the darkened interior boxes and crates lined the walls, adding even more obstacles to the already impossibly cluttered room, and the scent within them tugged at her heart painfully. She didn’t have to open them to know that she would recognize all of their contents. Beside the dark sofa that belonged in this room was a pale one that she recalled falling asleep on countless times in the past. Her fingers trailed over the cushioned back fondly as she passed it, the fabric soft and inviting under her touch. Where was the blanket that belonged draped over its back?

Somehow she had known it would all be here. Who else would have claimed it? Only one, and she doubted he cared enough to try. Her dad had loved her once, and maybe he still did, but now he had his string of current and future ex-wives to keep him busy. She wondered, if he would move on from Cora, too? Maybe find a new step-troll with kids who he could throw money at instead of attention? It didn’t matter.  _ She _ had moved on from  _ him _ .

A soft snore from the back room caught her attention, and without hesitation she made for the room.

The bed in the corner was occupied; its dark inhabitant curled in tightly beneath the blankets. Cora recognized the blanket spread over the sleeping figure as the one that belonged on the pale couch. It had been her favorite. She wondered if that was why it was being used now. The thought touched her.

Approaching the bed carefully, she gazed down at the sleeping woman, and was reminded quickly of what a light sleeper she was. Dark eyes opened the moment she stood within arm’s reach, shining in the light bleeding in from the window above her head, and a muffled curse was immediately followed by a flailing arm, which sent most of the contents of the bedside table scattering. A soft click announced a warm, dim light as the panicked figure pressed small wire frames over her face.

Cora smiled. She might have only remembered her a short while ago, but she realized now that she’d been missing this woman all along. 

Dee’s eyes widened impossibly, taking in the sight of her friend’s travel garb, the staff at her back, and more pointedly the rolled and pinned sleeve to her left before darting back to her face.

_ “Cora?” _ Her name was spoken in a whisper, as quiet and disbelieving as she’d expected. With careful fingers Cora reached down and plucked the inhaler from where it had fallen on the floor, holding the device out to her friend. She wondered if the dark woman would start wheezing here. Did asthma exist in dreams?

“Hey Chica,” she said softly, an affectionate smile on her face. “I missed you.”

XXXX

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! The end! People had asked quite a lot after Cullenites if they would get to see what happened when Cora went to Thedas with Cullen. Well now you know. And I love it. I'm happy with the closure it gives. I hope you all are too.
> 
> Super big thanks to LoreKeeper427 for being my fantastic beta/keeper-of-the-canon through this. Now go check out her posts because they’re awesome!
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> I did the thing!!! Almost four years later and it's finally going up! My first REAL sequel! Last time it took a month or longer between chapters. This time you'll get them faster because they've all been written already! They're just being polished up to make sure they're pretty. And in order to make sure I do that timely I'm posting the first chapter now! I hope that it's worth it...


End file.
